On Our Love
by Lia-Osaka92
Summary: Everything was so easy and real with Yuuri. Even with the lingering tension and the unspoken inevitability of separation, they somehow managed to fall back into something close to a routine, effortless conversation, easy jabs and quiet smiles and something he wanted to hold on to for the rest of his life. Home.
1. Part I: on losing your way

Victor had read plenty of romance novels in his life. He would even say he enjoyed them quite a bit. And in those novels, he'd seen all sorts of love stories unfold. People falling in love at first sight, knowing since the moment their eyes first met that they had just found their fated other half. Stories of subtle love and slowly falling in love day by day, interest growing to affection and escalating to devotion. He'd read of people jumping from the most intense of hatreds to the most passionate of loves in an incomprehensible flurry of emotions and wonderful mistakes that led to ultimate bliss.

For Victor though, falling in love with Yuuri hadn't been like any of those stories. It had been all and none of them at once. He had fallen hard and fast, burning and all-consuming, with the man on the ice, the fearless creature who would sweep him off his feet on the dance floor with passion in his alcohol-hazed brown eyes and the ugliest necktie Victor had ever seen. He'd fallen for the subtle vulnerability of his moves and the eroticism of his steps as he'd glided on the ice, a mimicry of _Victor's program_ that somehow managed to outdo his own performance. Ever since that fateful dance-off at the banquet and that daring Youtube video, Yuuri had taken over his mind, the musicality of his body and the lingering burn of his touch filling his every thought. Then he had fallen slow, and soft, and tender for the man off the ice, all self-confidence buried beneath a pair of glasses, overblown anxiety and oversized coats, and he'd come to love the quivering of his voice, the unguarded smile on his lips, the courage in his heart, the gentleness of his hands when they carded through Makkachin's fur. With every passing day, he'd felt more bits and pieces of his heart chipping away just so Yuuri could come and reside within him until slowly, but surely he'd taken over Victor completely. And on top of all that there had been all the mistakes, all the impulsive decisions, all the moments of incontrollable exhilaration: a turbulence of emotions, the most beautiful and the most painful, an overflow of yearning and passion, and he had fallen, fallen, still felt himself fall in love all over again every time Yuuri looked at him, smiled at him, called his name, until he had nothing left to offer because he'd surrendered everything to Yuuri.

But loving Yuuri was forbidden. Yuuri who in spite of everything had never felt the touch of a lover. Yuuri who looked at him with reverent adoration, like he had painted all the constellations with his fingers, like he had invented the whiteness of the snow and the sparkle of the ice. Yuuri who still kept posters of him under his bed, who still, in spite of everything, thought of him as a much better man than he actually was. Yuuri whose career would burn to ashes if anyone so much as caught any hint of Victor's infatuation. It wasn't hard to imagine the headlines, the whispers, the rumors "in the end it wasn't about Katsuki's talent, Victor just wanted in his pants.", "surely Victor pulled some strings to have his dirty mistress win", words so false and so revolting they made Victor sick to his stomach.

Yuuri didn't deserve that. Yuuri had given his life -his heart, his body, his very soul- to the ice, and the ice loved him back and made him beautiful and ethereal. He didn't deserve to have such devoted love tarnished by the media's thirst for scandal. Victor would never allow that, and if that meant having to bury his feelings in the deepest corner of his heart, he'd do it without hesitation. As fickle as people perceived him to be, self-control was in fact, one of his greatest strengths.

* * *

Or so he thought.

Then came Yuuri's free program in the Grand Prix Final, and even though he'd seen it countless times already, this one was different, it was new, and it shattered Victor's world to smithereens. And Yuuri probably knew that too because he glided off the ice with the brightest smile Victor had ever seen on him and he jumped into Victor's arms, his warm laughter caressing Victor's neck and he lost the self-control altogether, laughed with him, hugged his waist tight and spun him around, his chest swelling with pride and love. And when they were both out of breathe he let Yuuri's feet touch the ground again, but Yuuri's arms were still around his neck, fingers absentmindedly grazing the loose hairs at his nape, and his hands were still on Yuuri's waist, drawing small circles with his thumbs over the sparkle of his costume, and they were still laughing, their foreheads almost touching, and Yuuri was _radiant_ and so, so close that in the rush of adrenaline Victor decided he wanted to taste that laughter.

The light of camera flashes on the corner of his eyes yanked him back to reality, luckily before he was able to do anything he'd forever regret. He pulled away from the embrace, pushing Yuuri as far as his arms would let him (and ignored the immediate cold that constricted his heart), put on his public image mask (it was hard to remember it now, he never had to wear it with Yuuri, he'd lost practice), and assured the reporters that Yuuri was tired and nervous and they really needed to get to the Kiss & Cry and that he would answer their questions after the competition was over.

Not an hour later, Victor watched Yuuri vibrate as he climbed on the winner's podium, his cheeks flushed red, his eyes sparkling with joy and pride and confidence, and he knew what he had to do now.

For the first time, he put on his mask when Yuuri came back to his side, gold shining from his neck, and Victor smiled back at him (and once again he ignored how his heart suffocated in his chest).

* * *

The trip back to Hasetsu was eerily quiet, as if Yuuri could already sense that something had changed, as if he could see right through Victor's mask (he probably could).

They went back to their usual training regime as if nothing had happened, but as much as Victor tried to act naturally, there was a different tension in the air. The first night, Makkachin had whined at him and scratched at his bedroom door, his black eyes asking ' _why aren't we asking Yuuri to sleep with us tonight?_ ' (Yuuri had never said 'yes', but a certain fondness had grown in his voice every time he said ' _no, Victor, go back to bed'_ , a fondness Victor treasured). They didn't spend much time together outside of the ice, didn't talk much if it was not in relation to Yuuri's practice. Yuuko once asked him what was going on, and he'd dismissively said they were just focusing for the Nationals-Four Continents-World Championship series, and she hadn't asked anymore. Minako and Yuuri's mother sent him inquiring glances from time to time, but they never said anything. And worst of it all, sometimes Yuuri looked at him, a shadow of confusion and sadness in his brown eyes, and it was as if he already _knew_.

"I'm going back to Russia after Worlds."

He let it drop as if it was casual, meaningless, as if his throat hadn't constricted around the words, trying to keep them from being spoken.

Yuuri choked on an inhale, his eyes wide and hurt; opened his mouth "Ah—" as if he was about to say something, to protest, to demand an explanation, to yell at him, force him to stay. And Victor begged to any god that would hear him, that Yuuri wouldn't say that, because if he did, he wouldn't possibly be able to refuse him (and for that same reason, his heart pleaded that Yuuri would say it).

"Okay." Was the only thing Yuuri said instead, after the longest heartbeat of silence.

Victor wanted to say something else, ' _it's not you, Yuuri, I swear, you haven't disappointed me, you never could_ ' and he fought against the creeping fear that Yuuri would feel insecure again, inadequate, unworthy, when he was everything but, that his forbidden feelings and his inability to fight them had still managed to hinder Yuuri's glory. But Yuuri got back up and did one more run of his short program as if nothing ever happened.

The next time Yuuri called his name, all the fondness was gone from his voice, and if he said anything else afterwards, Victor couldn't hear it over the loud crack of his heart.

* * *

Victor had never had problems finding the right words to encourage Yuuri before a performance. Not at least until the World Championship. As Yuuri took a deep breath and approached the rink for his short program, Victor found himself at a loss. ' _I love katsudon'_ he'd told him the first time he'd performed Eros. ' _Seduce me with all your might_ ', he'd said before the Chuu-Shikoku-Kyuushuu regionals, as if he hadn't been long seduced, helplessly so. But this time, he couldn't think of something to say, nothing that was sincere without betraying the dread already coiling in his gut.

Yuuri looked at him, expectantly. With his skates on, he was as tall as Victor and could look him in the eye without tilting his head, a fact Victor had never found as uncomfortable as he did now. He swallowed hard and ran away from Yuuri's gaze, his eyes searching for something in the crowd.

Right. The crowd.

"Seduce _them_ one more time." He finally said, patting Yuuri's shoulder in a gesture that felt more forced than encouraging, and a part of him desperately wanted to pull Yuuri into an embrace (it wouldn't be weird, they did it for every competition, no one would bat an eye), but he didn't because he didn't trust himself to be able to let go. Yuuri's pupils shrank, his shoulders sagged for just a moment (disappointment, evidently, he'd been hoping for something else), but he recovered immediately and glided to the center of the rink as the announcer called his name and the crowd cheered.

The music began and Yuuri started moving. He tilted his face towards Victor, like he always did at the start. And he smirked at him, like always, enticing, challenging, but there was something else underneath this time. It was sensual and alluring, yes, but it was also raw and desperate, and it tugged at Victor's heart viciously, as if saying ' _I won't let you go'_.

He wondered if the audience would notice the change. Just a few months ago, Yuuri had been the most beautiful lady in town, confident and passionate, ensnaring the unsuspecting playboy with her irresistible womanly charms. But today she was different. She knew he was leaving, and with her body was telling him ' _you would be a fool to leave. You'll regret it for the rest of your life_.' (and Victor knew he was, and he would). And underneath all that, underneath her voice, there was also Yuuri, that tiny piece of him that hadn't completely turned into Eros: ' _please, please don't leave me._ '

When he left the rink, his cheeks were flushed, his breathing labored with the exhaustion, but he immediately sought Victor, his big, expressive eyes inquiring into his soul, asking if he'd understood, if he'd gotten the message.

"You were wonderful, Yuuri."

And although his words were true, his smile wasn't, and Yuuri noticed, and that tiny glimmer of hope vanished from his eyes. The sight of it tore Victor's heart out of his chest. But he bit his lip and endured, because this was for the best, he kept telling himself over and over, while avoiding Yuuri's eyes.

The scores were brilliant, like Yuuri himself had been, like he always was. A new personal best, a new world record. It was hard to get rid of the press and get back to the hotel, harder still with the bitter silence between them. Makkachin was waiting for them in their shared bedroom (a mistake, a terrible mistake) and he yipped happily and jumped on Yuuri to lick his face the moment they walked through the door. It was the first time Victor ever brought Makkachin along for a competition for the sole purpose of making a swifter escape when the time came, because he was already going to leave half of his heart in Hasetsu, Japan, he wasn't going to leave his best friend too, and he was too much a coward to go back to Yu-Topia and _then_ try to run from there.

He couldn't help the fond smile that grew on his lips as Yuuri laughed and hugged Makkachin, warmth fluttering in his stomach seeing how much his two most precious loved each other. Warmth that was immediately shot down with guilt at the thought of having to force them apart.

"Come on, Makkachin, Yuuri's very tired and needs rest for tomorrow." He cooed, patting the dog's hip to nudge him off. Makkachin complied reluctantly and then trotted towards Victor's bed, climbed on top and barked as if he was proud of himself. It was then that the smell reached Victor's nose and he gasped in disbelief. "You're kidding me."

Yuuri got up from the ground and glanced at the bed. His eyebrows rose high with curiosity and then understanding dawned on his features. What Victor wasn't expecting was the snort that came after a second of silence.

"Did Makkachin mark territory on your bed?"

Victor glared at the dog that still was looking way too pleased with himself. "I don't understand, he's never done this before."

Yuuri's snort turned into a soft giggle. "Maybe he was upset that you left him locked in here all day."

Makkachin remained silent and unmoving, and Victor had a feeling that wasn't the case at all. He glanced at his watch. "It's too late to call room service, but I can't just leave that to dry there, can I…?" he mused out loud, frowning.

"We can wash them if you want." Yuuri offered, already shooing Makkachin off the bed and tugging the duvet off. "Ahh, it's all the way into the mattress, you're terrible, Makkachin." He chastised, but there was nothing but affection in his voice and all Victor could think was how much he was going to miss this.

"No, please, don't worry, you should go to sleep, I'll take care of it."

Yuuri cocked his head to the side, folding the stained duvet over his arm. "It'll be faster if I help you." He walked past Victor and into the bathroom. "And no offense but I have experience in this industry and no faith in your housekeeping skills."

Victor almost laughed. _Almost_. It died in his throat with preemptive longing and the knowledge that this might be the last time he felt like this. Easy and warm and happy. Everything was so easy and real with Yuuri. Even with the lingering tension and the unspoken inevitability of separation, they somehow managed to fall back into something close to a routine, effortless conversation, easy jabs and quiet smiles and something he wanted to hold on to for the rest of his life. Home.

It was the worst possible contradiction, really. He wanted to cherish every moment he had left with Yuuri, treasure every laugh he could draw out of his lips, marvel at every sparkle of his brown eyes, and at the same time, being with Yuuri just reminded Victor of the hopes at happiness he was giving up, how he wished he could exhale every breathe that was left in his body by Yuuri's side, and how painful their imminent parting would be.

The thought constricted his chest as they left the haphazardly washed bedsheets to dry and sprayed some air freshener on the mattress for good measure. He'd have to remember to leave a note and a very generous tip for the staff.

"That's done, so you really need to get to sleep now, Yuuri." He said, his mask carefully placed on his features, even as the taste of that name tugged at his heartstrings.

Yuuri nodded, but then paused. "Hmmm, Victor?"

If saying Yuuri's name pulled at his heartstrings, Yuuri calling his ripped them out of his chest. "Yes?"

"Where are _you_ going to sleep?"

"Why on my bed of course, what a sill—" _Ah_. The bed that had no sheets and yes had a sizable sample of his dog's pee.

As if on cue, Makkachin woofed and hopped on Yuuri's bed, his tongue lolling out of his snout, and Victor finally understood why he had seemed so pleased with his little urinary mishap that was apparently not an accident at all.

Makkachin was the worst dog ever.

"The…floor I guess?" he offered, in vain hopes of salvaging the situation. Yuuri had insisted they didn't need an expensive suite with a living room and Victor was seriously regretting heeding his request.

"That'd be bad for your bones. This is…" he heard Yuuri swallow thickly, and from the corner of his eye saw him pat the mattress to his side with trembling fingers. "…big enough for two people."

It was a cruel twist of fate that after all these months of jokingly and not-so-jokingly trying to get into Yuuri's bed, he was finally offered the opportunity when he wished he could reject it above all else.

"Okay." He breathed instead.

Yuuri nodded and slipped under the covers, his cheeks flushed like vibrant rubies. Victor waited a little longer, trying and failing to school his own heartbeat. Makkachin barked at him impatiently, already curled at the base of the bed, presumably on top of Yuuri's feet.

' _You might think you're helping but it's the complete opposite._ ' Victor thought to himself, glaring at the dog again. It occurred to him that maybe Makkachin too knew what was going on and his actions were just his bizarre way of trying to prevent it. The thought made the glare go away and he smiled at his friend, just as the guilt clenched around his heart tighter.

He finally sat on the bed and slipped his legs under the covers. He didn't dare look at Yuuri, already feeling his body's warmth too close for comfort. The air got thick with tension, unspoken words and questions and maybe even a plea and a confession that would ruin everything hanging in the air. And then Yuuri sighed (disappointment, again) and lied down on his side, pulling the covers up to his ear and his back facing Victor.

"Good night." He said simply, his voice trembling with something Victor couldn't identify.

Victor sighed and lied down too, his back to Yuuri, and bit his lip. The bed was big enough for two people, but not big enough for him not to feel the warmth radiating from Yuuri's body, not big enough to smother his desire to inch closer. All those months wanting this and it all culminated in the cruelest, most miserable experience of his life; the one thing he wanted more than anything dangling so dangerously close and so out of reach.

Makkachin whined unhappily, as if he didn't understand what had gone wrong.

* * *

They didn't speak at all since the morning and until Yuuri was called to the ice for his free program. This time Yuuri didn't glance back at him, he wasn't expecting anything from him anymore. And perhaps Victor should've left it like that, make this easier on them both, but he couldn't. It was a selfish wish no doubt, but he couldn't possibly let Yuuri keep that fake smile and frozen silence as his last memory of their time together.

He grabbed Yuuri's shoulder and tugged lightly, asking him just one last time to look at him. Yuuri did, cautiously, guarded, but Victor squeezed his shoulder to reassure him and let the mask fall off his face, even if he knew he was risking that the prickling feeling at the corners of his eyes would break him. He smiled then, sincere, because Yuuri had come so, so far and he'd been everything Victor ever expected him to be and so much more, more than he could've possibly dreamed. And this time, it wasn't hard to find the right words.

"Yuuri, you're my greatest pride."

There were so many more words he wished to say, but none that he was allowed to. So instead he indulged himself _just this once_ , _just once more_ , _I swear I'll let go_ , _just let me have this_ , and pulled Yuuri into the tightest embrace. The moment he felt Yuuri's heartbeat against his own, arms wrapping around his neck, shaking fingers touching his nape like they'd done so many times before, he knew this had been a mistake and still couldn't bring himself to regret it, drinking in the warmth of the moment, wishing time would come to a halt right there and then so he'd never have to let go.

They breathed deep in each other's arms, inhale, exhale, inhale. Then Yuuri's arms pulled back and nudged him away excruciatingly softly. Victor was sure heartbreak wasn't supposed to be this soft. But maybe it was like tearing off a band-aid, and the fact that it was slow and gentle made it even more painful than if it had been torn hard and fast.

"Thanks." Yuuri muttered quietly and stepped onto the ice.

The music piece Yuuri himself had chosen and named began playing and Victor indulged himself in the magic of the performance one last time.

" _Did you change the theme of this piece?"_

" _Uhm… The theme is… 'On my love'"_

" _That theme's perfect."_

It really was. A piece that told the story of Yuuri's figure skating career, his dedication to the ice, his love for his blades. Affectionate, personal, etched with that beautiful vulnerability that was so Yuuri's, so terribly mesmerizing. But like Eros yesterday, this interpretation was slightly different. It was love, but it was also longing, a ballad for a love lost and the loneliness it left behind. A farewell. And it was so, so heartfelt, so real, Victor could even see the tears pooled at the corners of Yuuri's eyes.

His resolve almost crumbled on the spot. How could he leave Yuuri like this? How could he possibly break Yuuri's heart and make him cry? If Yuuri wanted him to stay, who was he to go away? But he tightened his fist and bit his lip so hard it almost bled to remind himself that Yuuri would be fine. Yuuri was still constantly evolving. His attachment to Victor was mostly the lingering reverence for a lifelong idol. But after this season and all he had accomplished, Yuuri would know this was all his merit, his glory, something he could continue pursuing on his own.

Victor had accomplished what he'd set himself to do. He'd found something precious and raw, and polished it so the world could appreciate its beauty. He'd drawn the music from Yuuri's body, given Yuuri the confidence to prove himself how special and talented he was. Yuuri didn't need him anymore, he had nothing left to teach him. With an ocean separating them again, Yuuri would move on, find another coach (one that didn't dream of kissing him every day, soft on the eyelids every morning and hard on the mouth after every victory), and he'd continue to surprise the world for two or three, perhaps four or even five more years. He'd outgrow his idolizing and stand on top of the world on his own two feet. Perhaps their time together would even become little more than a distant memory that would fade away with the years (for Yuuri at least; never for Victor).

The music finished and Yuuri struck his final pose, his extended arm pointing at Victor, and it felt almost like an accusation and one last, desperate plea.

The crowd exploded in cheers and ovations. Yuuri had laid himself bare on the ice; his love had enthralled everyone who laid eyes on him. Till the last moment he remained beautiful and surprising, a living wonder. This banal world wasn't worthy of him.

Yuuri turned away to bow at the judges, which gave Victor the perfect time to disappear, like the coward he was. If Yuuri came to him now and smiled at him, Victor wasn't sure he'd be able to pull away again. In fact, if he'd turned back and seen Yuuri one more time, he was almost certain he would've lost what little resolve he had. He didn't even wait to see the scores –he didn't need to, no one could possibly doubt who had conquered the ice- and everyone was so captivated by Yuuri they didn't notice him.

He ran away and took a cab to the hotel to grab his suitcase (he'd left it packed this morning, had been steeling his mind all day for this moment). He also picked up Makkachin, who for the first time in thirteen years, fought him back as he tried to put him on a leash, and after he'd finally wrestled it on, dropped on the floor and refused to move.

"Makkachin, please, we have to _go_." He pleaded, tugging on the leash. "Makkachin, _stoyat_." He commanded in Russian, but the order went ignored. "Makkachin!" he snapped, angrily, his eyes stinging already, pulling the leash harder than he'd meant to. Makkachin recoiled and growled at him, something he'd never, _ever_ done before. Victor dropped the suitcase and kneeled in front of his friend. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He hiccupped, his chest already so tight he could hardly breathe. "You stupid, stupid dog." He circled his arms around Makkachin's neck and buried his nose in soft fur. Makkachin whined pitifully, squirming in his embrace, the meaning all too obvious.

"I know, buddy, I know. I love him too."

* * *

Later, at the airport, he got a text from Yurio.

" _I just found Katsudon crying in the bathroom, maybe be a decent coach for once and go check on him."_

Victor dropped his phone and laughed mirthlessly, letting his head lean against the booth's door.

 _How amazing and cruel. We're doing the exact same thing._

* * *

On his first night in St. Petersburg, after he'd shut the door and been hit by the stale smell of his own apartment that he hadn't seen in a year, it really dawned on him that _it was over_ and he'd cried for two hours straight. After he finally felt the onslaught of sadness subside he'd tried to wash his face and eat something. There was of course nothing in his refrigerator, but he found an unopened bag of chips that would probably taste like dust at this point (he didn't bother checking the expiration date).

Halfway through the chips that did indeed seem to be dust-flavored and did nothing for his sense of taste but at least succeeding in filling his empty stomach, he remembered to turn his phone back on, and was immediately greeted with a text from Chris and it just had six words written in English: " _That was a real dick move_ ". That was it. Victor kept waiting for a rant, for some display of explosive anger, a barrage of insults flooding his inbox from every single person they knew because Yuuri was so universally beloved, some 'you miserable piece of shit' and 'you never deserved him' (he didn't, of course he didn't). But nothing came. And for some reason just that understated accusation felt more painful than the idea of being told what a worthless piece of human scum he was and he cried himself to sleep, the dusty chips forgotten.

Against his better judgment, he gave himself a full week off after arriving in St. Petersburg. He convinced himself it was perfectly normal to take some time to grieve the love he'd lost (love that had never been his to take), and allowed himself to wallow in misery.

It wasn't that he stayed curled in bed and crying his heart out every waking moment, it was more like riding waves of sadness. They started in the pit of his stomach, making it curl, then climbed up to crush the air out of his lungs and suffocate his heart, further up to pull a sob out of his throat while tying it in a tight knot at the same time, making it hard to breathe, and breaking out from his eyes in the form of tears.

He found himself falling into a sort of routine: wake up, wash face, eat breakfast, feed dog, turn on the TV for background noise (he liked to watch dog competitions, in his youth had even entertained the idea of making Makkachin into a champion dog and become a pair of champions. Makkachin had turned out to be much more interested in cuddling and playing and Victor hadn't had it in him to actually try to enforce some sort of discipline). Then he'd browse through his social media until he found someone mentioning Yuuri and the next moment, inevitably, he'd be sobbing loud and shameless, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. In the loneliness of his own apartment, he had no need to keep up appearances and was free to scream and wail and cry until he couldn't even keep his eyes open.

There were times in which the waves of sadness were softer. They wouldn't bring him to his knees or draw out painful wails from his throat. Sometimes there was just a little thought at the corner of his mind ' _ah, this is just like when Yuuri…_ ' and he'd choke on an inhale and feel the burn of tears behind his eyes, but then they didn't spill, and while the sadness constricted his heart, it didn't overflow. Hours would pass and there's be another thought ' _oh, Yuuri would_ …' and he'd sob breathlessly once, or twice, and feel his nose running and a couple of tears slid down his cheeks, and then it stopped like it had never happened. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, over and over, every day.

Sometimes he felt silly, breaking down in tears in the midst of something banal like reading an article about dietary plans for senior dogs (Makkachin, just like himself, wasn't getting any younger, and that was just one of many other thoughts tightening around his heart), only to go back to normal in no more than two minutes, feeling just as silly when he returned to his article as if nothing ever happened. And then an hour later, some subconscious feeling that hadn't even finished forming in his mind had him sobbing dryly for a minute, or two, or five, and then he'd go back to scarfing down whatever unhealthy comfort food he'd chosen for the day, even if it didn't taste much of anything.

Once or twice a day, he'd feel that little wave of sadness, and just when it was about to subside, he'd feed in to it, filling his mind with images of Yuuri and thoughts _of I miss you, I miss you so_ , until it became a giant wave that made his heart hurt so much it might as well have stopped beating, and he let himself collapse and drown in it. He didn't really understand why this happened, but one of the perks of being alone was that no one was there to question his feelings, so he didn't have to do it either.

There was that one day that he'd taken Makkachin out for a walk, and when they'd passed by a newspaper vendor, Makkachin had barked and pounced at a rack of magazines. The salesman shrieked while Victor tried to rein his dog in, newspapers and magazines flying all over the place until finally Makkachin grabbed something in his mouth and sat at Victor's feet, nudging his thigh with his head, proudly presenting him with a teenage fashion magazine covered in drool. Victor grabbed it and froze when he saw Yuuri on the cover, his eyes briefly catching on the tagline ' _This year's king of the ice is a cutie! All about the figure skating World Champion Yuuri Katsuki_!". Makkachin barked happily. It was so monumentally stupid because why would a fashion magazine run an article on figure skating and why did Yuuri look so breath-taking even in that awfully cropped photo, and how could these people hope to comprehend _anything_ about the real Yuuri, let alone _everything_ , and Victor barely managed to shove all the cash in his wallet on the hysteric salesman's hands, rush back to his apartment where he could fall to his knees to cry, the magazine still clutched tight in his hand. Makkachin had whined at him, nosing at the magazine, but Victor ignored him. He couldn't bring himself to even glance at it again. So he shoved it at the bottom of a drawer full of stuff he never looked at, because he also couldn't bring himself to throw Yuuri's photograph in the trash.

Makkachin didn't take well to Victor's rejection, and since that day he stopped trying to comfort him, wouldn't even hop on the bed at night, and aside from demanding food and bathroom, apparently pretended Victor didn't exist at all. He spent most of his time sulking, whining, or scratching the apartment door, as if he hoped to be set free so he could run all the way back to Hasetsu, with or without his owner. The next time Victor had dragged himself out of bed to walk his dog like a responsible owner should (around the neighborhood, not back to Japan, and that was perhaps the problem), Makkachin had growled, tried to bite his hand and run to hide, thrashing half of the apartment in the process.

Victor mused that he really shouldn't be that surprised that Yuuri had taken over Makkachin's heart so badly over the short span of one year. He himself had been complete and utterly charmed beyond salvation, it was only natural that his dog would be too. There was still something sadly ironic in knowing even his own dog wasn't on his side though.

* * *

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?!"

After a week had passed, he'd finally willed himself to try and regain some sort of normalcy, so he'd showered, grabbed his skates and headed to the ice rink. Yurio (no, just Yuri, there was only one Yuri here, there was no need for distinctions) had already been there, practicing on his own when he'd arrived (and Victor felt a little proud, because just one year ago, one wouldn't possibly dream of seeing Yuri so committed to his practice).

"I came to skate, obviously." He stated, although he knew that wasn't what Yuri meant. But he hadn't come this far to hide away his dangerous feelings only to spill them over to the first person who asked.

"No, I mean why are you here, _here_. In St. Petersburg. Why aren't you in Japan? Did you bring Katsudon along?"

 _He doesn't know._

Victor cocked his head, feigning innocence. "No? I'm not Yuuri's coach anymore after all." And he pretended that saying it didn't make his heart clench.

Yuri stumbled on his feet, his eyes widened. "Wait, what?! What the- _Why_?!"

"Obviously I can't prepare my program for the next season if I'm coaching someone in a different continent, can I?" Yuri didn't respond, but Victor didn't need him to. "It was never meant to be a permanent thing, I just needed my inspiration back, and I got it! I have so many ideas that I want to do now I can hardly process them!"

Not a single of those sentences was true. For one, he'd bought a one-way ticket to Japan and, before his love for Yuuri had become too much for him to handle, he'd fully intended to stay by his side for as long as Yuuri would have him. He hadn't sought Yuuri out to get his inspiration back, Yuuri himself inspired him, but not to make a program for himself, but to see what kind of music he could draw out of his body. And needless to say, he didn't have any ideas, didn't know what he was doing or what he wanted to do. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to try and compete again, but he'd hoped feeling the ice under his skates would help him refocus.

So far it didn't seem to be helping, but he convinced himself that it was just because he'd only been in the rink for five minutes. It would come to him. Soon. Eventually.

Yuri looked like he still had much more left to say, but he bit it back and turned away from Victor.

"Whatever, just don't get in the way of my practice."

* * *

Victor hadn't expected the warmest of welcomes. In fact, when Yakov started hollering at him, the rink booming with 'you have the nerve' and 'how dare you show your face', it almost felt like coming back home (except his home was now in a distant seaside town in Japan, and he was never going to find his way back to it, back to _him_ ). But he also hadn't expected the looks he got from everyone else. There was Yuri of course, scowling as usual, but underneath that he could see something else, something sadder, something Victor wanted to erase from existence. And Mila had smiled beautiful and graceful, but then had said "I was sure you'd never come back.", and when Victor had parroted that fake story about it being 'temporary since the beginning', she'd shaken her head and said "I'd just never seen you look happier." And she didn't specify what she meant, but it wasn't necessary because he knew, had seen himself in the videos, the interviews, the photos that went viral, the press conferences, and been baffled by his own smiles, had wondered if that was a trick of the camera or if he really was capable of smiling so sincerely, realized it was the latter every time his eyes had found Yuuri's.

Even Georgi quirked an eyebrow at him and said "It's not like I don't think I can beat you this season, but I also don't think this is where you should be right now."

And Victor hated all of them as he bit back another wave of sadness and tears, memories of his true home and the smell of katsudon invading his thoughts, making his knees quiver.

* * *

"That step sequence is beautiful, Yuri."

"MY NAME'S NOT Y- Yuri…o?"

"I know."

* * *

Try as he may, he really couldn't think of anything for next season. He found himself just playing bits and pieces of his past programs, or doing compulsory figures trying to create an image in his mind. He had never felt so empty and uninspired in his life, not even when he'd been so desperate for novelty that he'd hopped on the first flight to Japan after watching a Youtube video of some Japanese kid to whom he'd lost an inebriated dance-off.

The idea of taking his love for Yuuri as inspiration crossed his mind more than once. Immediately he could hear the music, feel the story, imagine the steps and the spins. It was truly amazing, how heartbreak stirred the imagination. But just the thought of performing it, of actually bringing it to life, choked his heart.

After many days of fruitless gliding around the rink, waiting for this spin to connect to that step and spark any magic back into his blades, he decided to give his mind a break. Yuri was doing warm-up exercises at the rinkside, and that gave Victor exactly the kind of distraction he needed.

"Say, Yuri." He began, the name bitter on his tongue, his lips outstretched in a smile that was hurting his cheeks "Do you still want me to choreograph you a program for next season?"

Yuri reminded him much of himself when he was younger. Proud and ambitious, too aware of his own talents and eager to devour the world. With an extra layer of anger that made him a tiny bit more volatile. Victor knew how to handle Yuri, and was perfectly prepared for the initial lash out, which would be immediately followed by a reluctant concession.

Except it wasn't.

Yuri looked up at him through golden bangs (that he would defend with his teeth if he had to, no matter how much Yakov insisted he should cut them shorter for a more mature look), and his expression, rather than angry, was unexpectedly blank. Frustrated. Disappointed even.

"Do you really think I need the current you to choreograph anything for me? Don't make me laugh. You can barely stand on the ice as it is."

He stepped into the ice and skated away, never looking back at Victor.

That… hurt way more than it should have.

* * *

Victor was an ugly crier.

The public, of course, believed otherwise, because they knew him best for his calculated tears of his second and third Grand Prix, stoically beautiful, barely vulnerable enough to make people believe he'd let the slightest bit of control slip. He hadn't, but the media cared more about a pretty photo to print on the cover than actually understanding the person they photographed.

But when he cried for real, oh, he became truly ugly. The area around his eyes swelled and reddened since the first salty tears left their tracks over his skin, and in minutes his whole face was bright red from rubbing tears and snot away. His mouth contorted downwards and he wailed loudly, showing his teeth, his gums and the very unappealing inside of his mouth. Even the sounds of his cries and bawls were ugly, noisy and piercing like a baby's, not the deep, elegantly restrained sobs expected from a grieving grown man. After he'd been doing it for a while, his skin turned dry and wrinkly and dirty and he looked like he hadn't slept in a month.

(Some people were beautiful criers. Yuuri, for instance. The vision of him standing on top of the podium in Barcelone, tears streaming like liquid pearls down his cheeks and vanishing in the corners of his smile, so beautifully fragile and so joyously alive, was sure to become a source of inspiration for artists for generations.)

Victor was tired of crying, of doing something that made him look so ugly. He was tired of the sting in his eyes, of feeling as if his facial muscles didn't respond to his will, of getting his nose clogged with snot and having to breathe through his mouth, of running through a box of tissues per day. Tired of having a liquid curtain blurring his vision. And when he wiped his eyes to clear his own sight, he'd wonder if this was how Yuuri saw the world without his glasses, and the tears would come back to blind him in less than a heartbeat.

* * *

He couldn't land the quad flip. It was his signature move and he couldn't land it.

It started with a barely noticeable misstep, the blades slipping a bit too hard on the ice when he landed. He could've left it at that –probably no one but himself noticed the miss-, but Victor was nothing if not a perfectionist, and this was his specialty, his pride and joy, he had to get it right.

The next time he lost balance for a second and had to bend his knees to keep himself from falling. The third time he lost control of the speed and his hand touched the ice for a moment before he could stand back up. It sent a chill up his spine. How many years had it been since he'd last touched the ice with his hands without meaning to?

Yuri shot him a bewildered look, but said nothing.

It only got worse from there. By the fifth attempt he was unable to bounce back up immediately and instead had to take a second or two before he could regain his footing. On the eighth attempt he under-rotated and crashed on his ass loud and painful. His old bones were in no condition to be taking this kind of punishment. Desperation flooded his bloodstream, his vision turning blurry with anguish. This couldn't be happening. He'd only taken a year off. Just one year (the best of his life). He hadn't slacked off on his own training just because he was overseeing someone else's either. In fact, Yuuri had pushed him to the brink of utter exhaustion almost as often as Yakov did, more than once requesting an exhibition of all the jumps he knew. And Yuuri's eyes would sparkle with joy and excitement when he landed those difficult quads. The first time Yuuri had attempted the quad flip, it had been on Victor's prompting. 'Just an experiment, we're not adding something like that to your program at this point.' (Yuuri, wonderful, endless source of surprises that he was, had obviously decided otherwise). And of course he hadn't landed it and he'd fallen a little hard on his side, but the smile on his lips had been so radiant everything else didn't seem to matter.

His take off was too forceful on the ninth attempt and he slammed against the rink barrier. Not on his face, like Yuuri had back in Chuu-Shikoku-Kyuushu, but his left arm hadn't taken nicely to being crunched between his body-weight and the edge of the rink. He drew a circle with his shoulder to relax the muscles, and felt it pop painfully, but luckily not out of place.

On the tenth attempt, Victor remembered Yuuri's voice and his thrilled smile ' _Victor! I did great, didn't I?"_ , and something went horribly wrong mid-air, his skates never found the ice, it all happened so fast he didn't have time to break the fall with his hands and he crashed face first on the ice, and couldn't get back up, period. The world was spinning around him, his body throbbing with pain and he vaguely heard agitated voices calling his name, people crowding around him until they weren't and he blacked out, wondering if maybe Yuuri hadn't stolen the quad flip from him like he'd done with his heart.

His head was still pounding when he woke up, and it took him a moment to realize he was in the resting room, or to even remember why he'd ended up here in the first place.

"I told you, you wouldn't be able to come back if you left."

Victor wanted to protest, 'I _have_ to come back. I'm still good for one season. I have to be.' But no words could pass through the lump in his throat.

"Go back home, Vitya. You're lucky you didn't break anything or get a concussion. Not even a sprain, the ice sure does love bastards like you. Don't show your face around here until you've figured yourself out or you'll get injured for real and _then_ it will truly be over."

He tightened his fists and chewed on his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, but really, what _could_ he say? He'd been nothing short of pathetic ever since he came back, and now he'd even lost his best move. Yuri had been right before: even standing on the rink was difficult. He should've expected it, the ice had been what brought him to Yuuri in the first place. But he'd naïvely hoped that he could hold on to at least one of the things he loved more than anything in the world, even after letting go of the other.

Yakov didn't say anything else whilst Victor dragged his feet outside. Yuri was leaning against the wall and glanced up at him, a deep scowl in his brow. "C'mon, get moving."

Victor opened his mouth to ask, but apparently no one was going to let him speak today, because Yuri cut him off before he could make any sound. "I'm gonna make sure that you actually go back home and that you don't do anything stupid. And that you're actually feeding your stupid dog."

"Makkachin's not stupid." He managed to mumble.

"He has to be. He likes _you_."

"Aaah, but what does that say about you, Yuri dear."

Yuri clicked his tongue but said nothing else. He buried his hands in his pockets and walked ahead, leading the way. Victor allowed himself the first genuine smile in weeks. He'd only taken his eyes off Yuri for a little while and he'd grown this much. He felt a little bit proud, even if he knew he hadn't done anything to earn that.

* * *

When Yuri had seen the pitiful state of his apartment, he'd forced him to give him his wallet and a copy of his keys. He'd come every day carrying a grocery bag, and would kick Victor out of bed and force him to cook for both of them. Then he'd put Makkachin on a leash and take him on a walk. Surprisingly, Makkachin let him. He'd drag Victor to join them, but Makkachin would growl if Victor so much as tried to grab the leash, so he just walked next to them in silence.

One week into this oddly comforting routine, Yuri dropped the question that had been tensely hanging in the air all along.

"So are you gonna' tell me what happened between you and Katsudon?"

Victor dropped his fork and it clattered against the plate, the food splattering out to the tablecloth. The now too familiar regret squeezed around his heart. It had been a month, but the pain showed no signs of subsiding. He touched a hand to his chest and willed his eyes to stop stinging.

 _Not in front of Yuri. Not in front of Yuri._

"Nothing happened."

It wasn't really a lie. Nothing had really happened, Victor couldn't have allowed it to.

Yuri clicked his tongue and his face furrowed in disappointment again. "Fine, suit yourself."

* * *

Sometimes he willed himself to cry.

He didn't know how to explain the feeling. As the weeks went by, the constant piercing pain turned into a dull ache, yet somehow it felt even worse. He felt no fire, no passion, no drive, just a gaping hole in his chest. Empty. Dead. Then he had these little moments in which he was afraid he'd lost the ability to actually feel. So he forced himself to cry.

It was easy, really. He closed his eyes and thought of Yuuri, of his smiles, the sweet blush on his cheeks, the music in his body that had trapped Victor since day one, the way he called Victor's name, how he grew more and more confident, more and more beautiful with each passing day. He let those happy memories soak him, fill his heart with warmth and pride and love and hope. If Yuuri had asked, just once, with a stutter in his voice and determination in his eyes, if Yuuri had asked…

 _I would've been his._

Then he opened his eyes and found himself in his cold and empty apartment because Yuuri hadn't (couldn't) and he'd been a coward, he had run away and _I lost him_. _He was my home, my happiness and_ _I lost him_.

It worked like a charm. Every time.

Crying was cathartic. Feeling tears pour down his cheeks and letting long and loud sobs tear out of his chest was oddly liberating. It was a strange form of satisfaction that hurt like nothing he had ever experienced and was still more tolerable than the dull nothingness. And once he was done he felt so exhausted he'd go straight to bed and sink into gloriously dreamless sleep.

* * *

"It shouldn't be my job to tell you this because you're a grown ass man and I'm not your mother, but you fucking can't go on like this."

Victor rose his eyes from his barely touched meal (he used to love this fast food chain but it was so flavorless right now). "I—"

"No, you shut the fuck up. You're not working out at all and still getting thinner. And your precious hair looks gross. You're a fucking mess. You've been here for way over a month and you're still stuck. If you won't talk about whatever went wrong with Katsudon, then get your shit together on your own and stop being a burden on everyone else."

The words stung more because they were true than because they were harsh. He knew Yuri was right. He wasn't doing anything to help himself but also wasn't letting anyone help him. He just couldn't see it, where he was supposed to go from here. "If you don't have any inspiration left, you're as good as dead", he'd been the one to teach that to Yuri, and it had never felt so true.

"Yuri—"

"And while we're at it –and I really can't believe I'm saying this-, if you're gonna sound like a dying animal every time you say our name, I'd rather you just call me fucking _Yurio_. Fuck."

He left after that –he muttered 'the food was good', washed his plate and walked out the door-, and it took Victor a minute (or maybe an hour) to regain the strength in his body to stand up. He'd thought that calling Yuri by his actual name was a way to detach himself from the love he'd left behind, to turn back the clock to a time in which that name wasn't connected to half of his soul and the most beautiful feeling in the entire world. Of all the things he'd done since coming back, that was the one that felt closest to an actual step forward, or at least, he'd wanted to believe it was.

Obviously that had been wrong to the point that he'd been hurting Yuri without realizing. His first thought was to plummet into bed and maybe give up on the idea of getting back up altogether. But he shook his head and slapped both of his cheeks with his hands. Whatever else may be going on, putting on such a pitiful show and causing so much trouble for his junior was unacceptable.

After finishing his meal he went to the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He hadn't done that in a while, and he was mostly horrified with what he saw. Deep dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, unkempt stubble all over his face, his skin sucked into his cheekbones in a most unattractive way, and his hair, oh his hair was a tragedy. Dirty and messy and full of knots. His undercut was no more and his half-fringe was becoming an ugly mismatched full set of bangs. When had he last gotten a haircut? Or a shower for that matter?

He breathed in and out slowly and splashed water on his face. Yuri was right. He couldn't just waste away like this. He still had no idea of how he was going to do it or what he was going to do, but he had to find a way to move forward.

* * *

"Yuri, I want to talk."

Yuri was barely through the door when Victor called to him and he flinched a little. He looked up at him and his eyes widened for a moment. "You don't look like shit." He commented, looking legitimately surprised.

Victor sighed. "Flattery will get you nowhere." He said, trying to force a playful lilt to his voice. It didn't really work. "I just got tired of looking like I was at death's door." He'd taken a good long shower, shaved the awful stubble and even hauled his ass to the hair salon to get his mop fixed. And he'd eaten his first proper breakfast in weeks. At least he was feeling physically stronger, and that was a start.

"Whatever, so talk."

Victor plopped down on his couch. Makkachin, who was curled on the opposite side of it, blinked at him and hopped off. "No beating around the bush with you, eh?"

Yuri sat on the spot where Makkachin used to be, leaning his elbow on the armrest and his chin on the palm of his hand. "You've been beating around the fucking bush since April."

"I guess that's true."

"HAH?!"

Yuri shot him the most bewildered look Victor had ever seen on him, which was a rather notable accomplishment considering how little restraint he had with his facial expressions.

"It's like I said before. Nothing really happened. I… I left so it wouldn't."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Yuri shoot off the couch to stand above him, towering over him, his nostrils flaring. Victor inhaled and prepared himself to hear Yuri lash out about his gross and ridiculous feelings and 'you just can't keep it in your pants' like he'd done before, when he'd had that short-lived crush on that sadly heterosexual Brazilian skier, back in Sochi. "That is the single _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard."

 _Eh?_

"I already imagined it was gonna' be mind-numbingly stupid, but I guess going above people's expectations is your _thing_ so I shouldn't be surprised."

Victor blinked, repeatedly and briefly wondered if Yuri had suddenly started speaking in a different language, because he couldn't make any sense of what he was saying now. Yuri didn't give him the chance to ask though, and continued ranting instead, his face contorted in anger and disbelief.

"I thought that maybe you'd been too gross and scared Katsudon away, or that he was boring in bed or something like that but it's way worse than I imagined, fuck."

Ignoring how weird and unsettling it was to have Yuri comment on his sex life –or lack thereof- and the absolutely no good images that the notion of Yuuri in bed (and how definitely not-boring that would be) sent to his head and his groin, he finally collected himself to object. "It's not stupid." He protested. "His career would've been ruined, media loves that kind of thing. I couldn't do that to him." He hugged his knees to his chest. "He's so _talented_ , Yuri." So beautiful, so special, he could've gone on, and on and on. His breathe hitched just remembering the way the music hugged Yuuri's body when he skated, how it loved him. "And he worked so hard to get this far and to regain his confidence. And those… people they'd… they wouldn't think twice to destroy him and tear his entire life apart with lies and baseless accusations if that meant selling more superfluous magazines or getting more clicks on their websites."

He'd seen it happen far too many times, talented people with bright and promising futures crumbling under the stress, the pressure, the backlash, collapsing in tears to the light of paparazzi and self-destructing after one too many hateful comment on Facebook. And he'd also seen what that kind of negativity could do to Yuuri's state of mind. Yuuri was strong and confident on the ice, but off of it, it was as if his heart was made of glass, precious but fragile, and Victor would never allow anyone to break it.

Yuri huffed in annoyance, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know where you've been looking at this whole year, but that little pig of yours isn't the delicate rose petal you seem to think he is. Do you really think he'd mind any of that shit? Every time someone doubted him, he proved his worth a thousand times over. Maybe a year ago he would've been shaken by the tiniest fucking scandal, but the way he is now? No way in hell."

Victor couldn't suppress the small smile when he remembered just how much Yuuri had indeed changed over a year; from quivering and stuttering and unable to even hold Victor's gaze, to standing strong and proud on that podium, knowing he deserved the gold hanging from his neck and that anyone who doubted it was a fool.

"You sound quite smitten by him, Yuri. How unexpected."

Not surprisingly, Yuri growled. "Am not. But I'm neither stupid nor immature to not know when I've been bested." He sighed dug his hands into his pockets, looking up at the ceiling. "I understood why you chose him since that Onsen on Ice shit, and then he just kept getting better. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see it."

It was hard to think of a good answer because Yuri was right, Yuuri had grown so fierce and powerful in the last year he was almost unrecognizable, sometimes more like an unbreakable marble statue rather than a fragile porcelain figure. But facing an overblown media scandal wasn't necessarily a matter of strength. People were cruel and quick to forget. The smallest rumor could blow up and then the transcendence of Yuuri's performances would be erased from the public memory to be replaced with vicious tales and false accusations that would be accepted as truths, probably even get added on a "Controversy" section on his Wikipedia article, his legacy forever tarnished.

"Yuri, I can't-"

"Oh, stuff it!" he kicked the coffee table with his heel, making the cups on it clatter and bounce dangerously. "You've convinced yourself with this 'I'm just doing it for him' crap, but the truth is you're just a fucking coward. You thought you had perfect control over your own stupid feelings and when you didn't, you ran away. It's always safer to be the heartbreaker than the heartbroken, isn't it?"

Victor gaped at him, forgetting every word he had ever learned in every language he knew, astounded beyond what should be possible. Yuri didn't stop there.

"If you were seriously so concerned about him you wouldn't fucking _be_ here making _everyone_ fucking miserable with this shit! Even your stupid dog is miserable, god damn it!"

"Makkachin is not stupid!"

"Definitely not as stupid as _you_ , for sure! At least _he_ knows what you should be doing now!"

Thick silence hung over their heads. Yuri was still towering over him, fuming. Victor tried to hold his gaze, but failed miserably and instead turned to glance at Makkachin, who was once again scratching at the door.

A terrifying thought rushed to the front of his mind.

 _Did I make a mistake?_

"You claim to do everything for him but you didn't bother actually asking what _he_ wanted."

What… Yuuri wanted?

He knew what Yuuri wanted. He'd wanted to win the Grand Prix and make up for last year's humiliation, erase his regrets and achieve his true potential. Show the world what he was truly capable of.

 _Was that what he really wanted?_

Was it not Victor's own desire of showing off the beauty and shine of the diamond he'd found, the one everyone else had mistaken for charcoal? Had he projected his wish, his drive to make Yuuri himself see how wonderful, how awe-inspiring he was? Why had Yuuri been crying in the bathroom after crowning himself World Champion? Had he missed on the actual bigger picture?

 _Just stay by my side and never leave!_

Victor was not blind, nor foolish. Over a decade under the spotlight had made him all too aware of what being wanted felt like. He knew Yuuri wanted him. He'd proclaimed it live on national TV too. The memory still made Victor's heart skip a beat in the most wonderful way possible. But Yuuri wanted him for his talents, his experience. What Yuuri wanted from him was advice and support, knowing that there was someone who believed in him more than he believed in himself. Perhaps he wanted his body too, at least a little, if the way Yuuri occasionally struggled to keep his eyes on Victor's face when they bathed in the onsen was any indication.

But for sure, Yuuri didn't want the storm of emotions and passions that Victor could hardly contain within his own body; definitely didn't _need_ this all-consuming desire in which he wasn't sure whether he wanted to devour Yuuri whole or to relinquish his entire existence and let it dissipate in Yuuri's arms, or if it was possible to have both at the same time; nor the love that was so intense Victor wanted to cry, and laugh, and fall apart and touch heaven every time he lay eyes on Yuuri. His feelings were too much of everything, even for him, and if Yuuri had known of them, he wouldn't have wanted them.

Victor buried his head in his bent knees. With a twinge to his chest that was as painful as it was relieving, he reaffirmed himself that yes, he had made the right choice, for Yuuri's career and his heart, and that was really all that mattered.

"Fucking _be_ like that then, I don't know why I even fucking bother." Yuri spat after a long silence.

He didn't look up, and only heard Yuri stomp to the door, growl at Makkachin 'your stupid puppy eyes don't work on me, you know, I'm not taking you back to fucking Japan', and slam the door on his way out.

Victor tightened his fingers around his knees, Yuri's words ringing in his head.

 _You wouldn't fucking be here making everyone fucking miserable with this—_

Yuuri… Yuuri couldn't possibly be unhappy, right?

* * *

Yuri kept coming every day for the following week, but he didn't really speak to Victor. He would drop a bag of groceries on the table, growl "You better have eaten that when I'm back." And took Makkachin for a walk. Victor didn't really dare contradict him and, so he obeyed without protesting, even if the meals themselves continued to do nothing for his sense of taste. He didn't try striking up conversation with Yuri either, not really knowing how to pick up from their last argument. He was afraid of asking about Yuuri. The thought that Yuuri might still be hurting and that he'd done all this for nothing tormented him, so he ran away from it as far as he could. Being a coward was kind of his specialty, and apparently the only thing he was good at that he hadn't left behind in Japan.

At the end of May, he got a text message from Yuri that included an attached video.

 **Angry kitten** : _Just watch this_

 **Angry kitten** : _VIDEO: [Katsuki Yuuri]…_

Victor felt a pang of pain in his chest and tossed the phone away. Was this Yuri's cruel way of getting back at him? The video's title was cut short due to the format, but Victor had looked at those exact words all too many times to not know exactly what video that was. He'd already watched that video more times than he could count, and Yuri knew that, _the whole world_ knew that, had talked about it endlessly over a year ago. He was trying to move forward in some way, so why did Yuri insist on pulling him back to the past?

He cleared his head off it and went back to scrolling through the news. At the back of his mind, the memory of the pure, unadultered awe he'd felt when he'd first watched that video surged forward and he let go of a breathy sob.

* * *

His door was slammed open five hours later, and Yuri stomped to the living room, fuming. Victor noticed he wasn't carrying groceries today

"Why didn't you watch it!"

It was supposed to be a question –probably-, but it sounded more like a misphrased command.

"I _have_ watched it." Victor replied nonchalantly, fighting away the burn at the back of his eyes, his gaze locked on a series of pictures of Chris's cat on Instagram. Chris hadn't texted him at all since Worlds. No one really had.

"No you fucking haven't. If you'd watched it you would be fucking doing something about it."

Yuri snatched his phone away and tapped a couple of times, his eyebrows scrunched in a deep scowl. Victor felt something other than hurt and loneliness curling in his gut, dark and bitter.

"I did watch it, Yuri, you know it! I even took a damned plane to Japan because of it!"

Yuri stopped whatever he was doing on his phone and looked at him with wide eyes. He dragged his palm over his face, clearly exasperated, and shoved the phone back on Victor's hands. Victor glanced at the screen against his better judgment and sure there was Yuuri, as beautiful as he remembered him, but he wasn't wearing his navy blue shirt from last year's viral video, but his Team Japan jacket instead. He looked down at the title that read _"[Katsuki Yuuri] Prepares new mysterious program_ ", and his eyes widened in realization.

"IT'S NOT. THE SAME. FUCKING. VIDEO." Yuri snapped, in case all the other signs hadn't been enough.

Victor's thumb hovered over the image, hesitant. Should he do this? He could feel curiosity buzzing in his head. What kind of music would Yuuri be creating with his body this time? Could he possibly look even more beautiful than he had at the Grand Prix? Maybe if he watched this he could convince himself that Yuuri was indeed moving forward so he could begin to do the same thing?

He shut the phone down.

"I can't."

Yuri snarled at him. "Watch it. You fucking watch it right now."

"But Yuri-"

"I don't want to hear anymore garbage, you're gonna fucking watch that shit, I'm not leaving until you do."

Victor glanced at the phone, his finger twitching. He wanted to watch it. He _always_ wanted to watch Yuuri skate, but he hadn't done it in nearly two months because it was too painful. He shook his head and got up from the couch, hoping to get some water from the kitchen to clear his head and figure out what to do about Yuri's stubborn insistence on making him feel as bad as possible.

Suddenly, Makkachin barked and Victor heard him softly padding through the apartment before standing next to him and nudging his thigh. It was the first time Makkachin approached him in weeks. He looked down and found the dog holding his phone in his mouth. Victor snatched it away instinctively and wiped the drool away, checking for any marks or cracks, then unlocked the screen to make sure it was still working.

The video of Yuuri was still on full screen, and he frowned. Makkachin barked proudly, like when he'd peed on Victor's hotel bed.

"Makkachin, we've—"

' _I guess a part of me was kind of hoping he'd watch it._ '

The voice that interrupted him didn't belong to Yuri –not the Yuri standing physically there-, and although it was distorted through the other phone's speakers, it still shook him to the core and punched all the air out of his lungs. His knees almost gave out on him.

"Yuuri…" he breathed , before he could stop himself, and the name left his mouth tasting of katsudon and honey and metal and loneliness. He looked up at Yuri, his eyes hazy with confusion. "How…?"

"It's the 21st Century, old man, we can in fact record other people speaking." He responded flatly, waving his own phone at him.

* * *

Yuri hadn't told his rival that he was recording him. He'd watched the video, chewed on it for a few hours, then called him on Skype without bothering to think about timezones.

" _Yurio?"_

"Oi, Katsudon, what the fuck's up with that video?!"

When color rose to the other Yuri's face, he decided this might become useful in his so far fruitless quest to make Victor stop acting stupid, so he clicked on the record button and waited.

" _A-ahh… God, that wasn't supposed to go online, this is the worst kind of déjá vú…_ " he flailed, covering his face with his hands. " _I even asked Yuu-chan to leave me alone for a bit, but I guess I underestimated the triplets yet again, ahhh…_ "

Yuri scowled. "I don't care about that, what's with that choreo."

Japanese Yuuri finally let his hands fall to his lap, his expression turned serious. " _I don't really know, that's just… it just came to me one day. I wasn't even trying to put a program together or anything, it just happened._ "

"Then why does it look like _that_."

The other Yuuri blushed again, and a sad, yet fond smile appeared on his lips. _"It just… that's how it came to me. I can't really explain it._ " He paused, looked down at his hands, then back at the camera, but his eyes were so intense it didn't really feel there were thousands of miles and a computer screen between them. " _Yurio, do you know if…_ " he paused again and shook his head. " _No, nevermind_."

Yuri was about to comment on how sick he was of people being stupid around him and how much he wanted to barf talking to either of them, but the other Yuuri spoke again. " _You know, I… I didn't intend for it to be recorded, let alone go viral again but… once it did I couldn't help it… I guess a part of me was kind of hoping he'd watch it._ " He chuckled, and even through the grainy video resolution, Yuri could tell his stupidly big brown eyes were watery. So carelessly transparent. " _It's silly, isn't it? But I thought that… well, this was how he first came to me so… maybe it might work again this time…"_

Yuri really hated them both.

* * *

"He wants you to watch it. You owe him at least that much after you fucking left him crying in the bathroom at Worlds."

Victor swallowed, his hand shaking with the phone in it. Makkachin barked for emphasis. He bit his lip, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. Yuuri should've never been locked in a bathroom crying after becoming World Champion. Had his selfishness and lack of control over his own feelings ruined what should've been the greatest moment of Yuuri's career? His thumb hovered over the 'play' button again, his eyes already hot with tears. Hadn't he reestablished his resolve just a few days ago? Hadn't he decided, after careful thought and analysis, that he had made the right choice?

Makkachin barked again and hopped to bop his head against the back of Victor's hand, almost making him drop the phone. In his scramble to keep it from falling, his thumb swiped over the screen

The video started playing, and Victor knew he was doomed, because he could never take his eyes away once Yuuri started skating.

The opening choreography was very similar to "Yuri on Ice", as if Yuuri had once again tried to portray the feeling of being insecure and fighting alone without believing in himself. Unlike that one though, in this he seemed to limit his movements to the right side of the rink, as if something was physically preventing him to cross over to the other side. His steps were sorrowful and slow, every breathe painstakingly pulled from his lungs, life itself leaving his body when he spun. He was mesmerizing, and so, so beautiful, Victor's heart ached.

There was no music, but it wasn't necessary, Victor could almost touch the melodies being born from Yuuri's every step. As he picked up momentum, he took off in quad Salchow, landed it beautifully, then glided backwards, his arms open wide like wings, and when he reached the center of the rink, his whole body went limp, collapsed as if he had fainted, but his arms were still spread, as if expecting to be caught. There was no one there, though, so he fell roughly on his behind, but he picked himself back up, unfazed, spun around to look at the invisible person that had failed to catch him, and there was no grudge or reproach to be found on his expression, only gentle affection as his hands rose to cup a face that wasn't there.

 _Ah._

Victor's knees finally gave out, and he kneeled on the ground, the phone clutched tight in his hands. The image on the video was turning blurry through his tears, that started streaming down his cheeks, and he choked on a sob.

"Yuuri…" he whimpered pathetically, his fingers ghosting over Yuuri's pixelated image.

 _Just stay by my side and never leave!_

"Yuuri…" he wept, two tears splashing on the screen, making the image even blurrier. It didn't matter. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, blood rushing through his body and making him feel warm for the first time in weeks. He understood now.

 **To be continued**

This was supposed to be a one-shot, but at some point it was going over 24 thousand words, so I decided to split it in two parts. I decided to post this now because the show validated all my Pining Victor dreams, thank our goddess Kubo Mitsurou for her gracious gifts.

If it's not obvious, the fact that Victor explicitly sees music when Yuuri skates is very important to me. Also, Victor's _Stammi Vicino_ and the parking lot scene are also terribly important to me. Victuri is very important to me.

Most of this first chapter was written in the weeks after hearing my cat's illness was terminal shortly followed by her passing, so I poured a lot of my own grief into it. Maybe that's made the crying scenes exaggerated or over the top –yet I feel I barely scraped the surface of it-, maybe even unnecessary, but it was something that allowed me to explore my own mourning process in a different way and it turned out to be quite cathartic, I hope it doesn't hinder your enjoyment of this.

As might be obvious, part 2 will have joy and disgusting romance to compensate for all the heartbreak and crying in this first part. I'm almost done writing that one, so I hope to put it out for Victor's birthday.

I'll be waiting to hear your thoughts on this, I really hope you enjoy it.


	2. Part II: on finding it back

Yuuri wasn't expecting anything in particular from this June morning. The buzz from his viral video of two weeks ago had finally started dying down, and with it, the way his heart jumped in his chest every time he felt the door of the inn slide open, and how it sank when it was just one of their regulars. Honestly, he was glad people weren't calling him about that video anymore. That was meant to be private, only one other person was meant to see it, coincidentally one who hadn't, probably wouldn't (and even of that, he wasn't really sure, but he kind of regretted holding back on that question to Yurio, at least he would've known that he wasn't supposed to expect anything) and he was tired of people asking what that had been about, why was it weird like that, was this a new risk he wanted to take for next season, and an endless barrage of questions he didn't want to answer.

"Yuuri, don't stay holed up all day, the weather's beautiful, go and sweep the entrance please." His mother called him that morning.

And she was right, the weather was unexpectedly pleasant, especially considering they were in the middle of a savage rainy season. The last time they'd had unexpected weather turn outs there had been a snowfall in April, ruining the sakura trees, and he'd found a ridiculous Russian man naked in their outdoor bath. The thought almost felt like a distant dream. With the sun shining bright on the sky, he hummed a melody that was all too dear to his heart, that reminded him of hours of grueling practice, of surprised gasps and victorious cheers, of love and euphoria and pride and heartbreak, memories he wouldn't trade for anything in the entire world, no matter how much they hurt him.

"When you're done with that, go to the men's baths, some customers left a mess over there last night." Mari told him in passing, looking way too excited for such early hours. It sounded like there was a ruckus going on at the back, but if they needed their help there, they'd tell him, so he saw no point in asking.

He frowned a little. He truly disliked people with poor manners, and one would think their regular customers would know better. It was usually foreigners who didn't know how to carry themselves in the onsen, but they didn't get many of those all the way out here in Hasetsu (there had been a spike in tourism after he came back home a champion, but after a few weeks, it had been reduced to mostly national guests), any reckless behavior should be inexcusable.

Strangely enough, there didn't seem to be any notable mess in the baths. All the showerheads, soap dispensers and basins were in their place. There were no major water splashes that suggested someone had been fooling around. He checked the lockers, but all of them were vacant. A shampoo bottle was empty, so he picked it up and made a mental note to get a replacement, but other than that, everything looked exactly how it was supposed to on an early weekday morning.

He then decided to check the outdoor bath. The rain had been heavy yesterday, so he couldn't imagine many people using it, but it didn't hurt to take a peek, just to make sure he wasn't leaving a warzone unattended. He moved swiftly, already wanting to get this over with so he could head to Ice Castle again, sliding the fogged crystal door open and taking a step outside.

The first thing Yuuri noticed was the naked Russian man chilling in the bath.

"About damned time. You sure like to sleep in, don't you? It's a miracle you manage to stay in shape."

More like an angry Russian teenager actually.

"Yurio?"

"Yes, yes, get your ass moving, we're late. Go get changed while I get out of here, move it."

Yuuri blinked confused a couple of times. He opened his mouth to ask what exactly was going on, and why hadn't he at least called to say he was planning on dropping by, or where were they going and why were they in such a hurry, but he was cut off by Yurio shoving him back inside.

"No time for stupid questions, it's late, late! We're going to the Ice Castle, so bring your skates." He chided, pushing him all the way out of the dressing room and shutting the door to keep him out before Yuuri could comment on why had Yurio gotten in the bath instead of waking him up if they were in such a hurry.

He figured this must be important given the lack of profanity in Yurio's orders, so he decided to go back to his room and get changed into his tracksuit. He was planning on going to the rink anyway, and watching Yurio skate was always fascinating regardless of anything else, so he had nothing to lose, really.

As he slipped his training jacket on, he glanced out the window to look at the blue sky, remembering the last strange weather day and the Russian man that had turned his life upside down back then.

 _What are the odds._

* * *

"What's this all about?" Yuuri finally managed to ask as they walked through the automatic doors of Ice Castle. He took brief notice of the fact that Yu-chan wasn't behind the bar, and it actually looked like the place was empty, even though it was opening hours.

Yurio made a displeased grimace. "Ugh, I don't know, teach me the quad flip or something, just put your skates on and stop asking stupid questions."

Once again, Yuuri was about to object something about how there was someone way more capable than him back in Russia who could teach him a quad flip, but the protest died in his throat as they entered the area of the rink which was shrouded in complete darkness. When they stepped into the pitch black room, Yurio grabbed him by the wrist without missing a beat and pulled him forward, no hesitation in his step as if he had night vision. And maybe he did because they never bumped into anything.

"Wait, wait, Yurio, let me go to the observation deck to turn the lights on!" he squeaked, trying to tug himself free of Yurio's strong grip

Yurio snarled in annoyance "Can you fucking stay still for like, _two seconds_ and stop trying to do unnecessary shit." He snapped, coming to a halt all of a sudden. Yuuri reached around in the dark and felt the rink barrier barely a step away from where they stood. "You can turn the lights on now!" Yurio hollered at the empty space of the ice rink.

"Are you going to tell me what is going on?"

Yurio groaned. "Oh, come on, you know him, he's the biggest drama queen ever. Don't act like you were expecting anything else after putting that shit online." Yuuri couldn't see his face in the dark, but he sounded like he was smelling something extremely unpleasant. "What's the hold-up with the lights?!" he roared again.

Yuuri didn't have time to ask again what exactly was going on before the rink came to life under bright white lights. Right when he was beginning to process what Yurio had just said ('what do you mean, who's "him"') his eyes spotted a figure standing on the left edge of the rink, tall and beautiful like an ivory statue and oh so painfully familiar he could feel longing squeeze his heart and—

 _Victor._

His body was moving towards the ice before he could even think about it

 _Victor. Victor._

Heartache had never been so beautiful.

One of Yurio's arms blocked his way. Reluctant to take his eyes away from the man on the ice for fear the mirage would disappear, he shot a quick, questioning glance at Yurio, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"Nuh-uh, you stay right there. I've suffered this bullshit for weeks, now you're gonna do the same and watch it. _Then_ you can be gross or whatever." He huffed and let his arm fall to his side once he determined Yuuri wasn't going to dart to the rink again.

Yuuri wasn't really understanding any of this, but he decided to stay still, calm the beating of his heart, and fix his eyes on Victor, who had his arms wrapped around his own torso, like a lonely embrace. One, two, three, four, five heartbeats of silence passed and the air was thick with anticipation. Yuuri could feel impatience thrumming in his blood, and he held his breathe.

Victor's sharp inhale cut through the silence like a steel blade and he started moving, the choreography somewhat reminiscent of his Stand by Me program that felt like such a distant memory now. Not the same steps or moves, but a similar sense of loneliness, of having lost one's way. Even if it was a performance, Yuuri's heart clenched, the pain and longing in his every move almost palpable.

It was a strange feeling, after all this time, to be the one watching instead of being watched. And he found himself unable to take his eyes off Victor, even if he'd wanted to. It had been so long since he'd last seen Victor performing a full program and yet he was still as otherworldly and magnificent as he'd always been. It was truly as if the ice was just an extension of his own body. But that wasn't what made it so mesmerizing. It was the raw vulnerability of his expression and moves, the overwhelming emotions that poured from his eyes, emotions that couldn't possibly be described by words, carved into the ice by the swipe of his blades. Calling it a performance would be a disservice to how Victor was laying his heart bare on the ice and truly, Yuuri had never seen him look so beautiful.

After spending half a minute without leaving the left side of the rink, Victor spun, picking up momentum, and after the fourth rotation he halted, almost frozen in place. He was looking at the opposite side of the rink and he sucked in a breath. His eyes widened and he touched his heart with one hand that quivered with emotion, as if he had discovered the most wonderful thing on Earth, a miracle that broke through his loneliness and despair and set him free of the shackles that held him back. He reached out to the invisible treasure with his arm, gained impulse and took off on a quad Salchow that he landed beautifully, then he glided to the center of the rink, where he halted completely and turned around, his eyes finding that for which he'd been looking. He stretched his arms wide, bent his knees as if he'd caught something heavy, and circled his arms around it, embracing the air and looking at whatever it was with intense, heart-wrenching devotion.

There was no music to be heard because this piece only existed in bits and fragments, loose notes and bars, a bow scratching over strings of steel, fingers delicately dancing over white and black keys, ideas and feelings that hadn't completely finished forming in Yuuri's mind, yet Victor was skating to it as if he knew it by heart, every step and spin perfectly in synch with a melody that had yet to be brought to life.

Yuuri knew.

As Victor spun on the ice, his beloved gently cradled in his arms, Yuuri cupped his hands over his mouth, his breath hitching and his heart skipping a beat, or two, or ten. Victor had seen his message. And he was responding to it to perfection, exactly what Yuuri had envisioned that one night, when he'd woken up before the sun had, frustration and sadness and confusion in the form of tears still drying on his cheeks, and decided he was tired of sulking and waiting and being depressed, that he'd write the story that had started to unfurl in his dreams and hope one last time that it wouldn't remain incomplete.

 _And it didn't._

* * *

If Yuri hadn't seen the other Yuuri's video, he'd probably find what Victor was doing strange. In fact, most people who _had_ actually seen Yuuri's video still would. All of Victor's movements indicated there should be someone else dancing with him –holding his hands, spinning in his arms, moving and jumping in synch with him, holding him and being held by him, dipping him down towards the ice-. It was like half of something else. But Yuri wasn't an idiot, and most importantly, he regretfully knew those two -who _were_ in fact idiots- all too well not to see what this really was. He'd only seen them separately, but they were so clearly fated for a reunion (and then, a forever) that neither felt like anything was missing.

Watching this now felt like intruding on something that wasn't meant for his eyes –for no one's really, save for the two of them-, yet he couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away, the full picture coming together in his mind. A part of him was yelling that this should be making him barf, but for the first time in his life, he found he didn't care much about listening to it.

* * *

As the second half began, the choreography stilled down, from an intense, passionate dance, to smaller, quieter movements as Victor pulled away from his love, his expression downcast with grief. He jumped for a triple axel, but when he landed, his legs faltered and he fell, one knee touching the ice, his back forming a beautiful arch as he glided farther and farther away from the one he treasured. Yuuri's heart jumped to the base of his throat, and he was about to dash to the rink when he realized it hadn't been an accident, but in fact, a deliberate fall because the separation had made him lose his footing, his balance. He could almost hear Victor's voice, low and soft and pleading in his ear.

 _I made a mistake._

 _I'm lost without you._

 _Please forgive me._

The feeling was all too familiar, and Yuuri felt hot tears about to overflow. He had agonized for weeks after the World Championship, wondering what he had done wrong to have Victor disappear from his life like that, almost as if he'd never been there to begin with. Had he failed to surprise Victor after all? Had he misinterpreted all their interactions so far? Had his own wishful thinking gotten the best of him, making him see and hear and feel things that weren't actually there? He'd gone over every moment they had shared, every glance, every word, over and over in his mind, trying to find any hints or answers, _something_ that would convince him that he'd just read too much into it, that this was the expected outcome from the beginning and hadn't _he_ been ready to let Victor go since the first day he'd showed up in their baths? But the more he thought about it, the more certain he was about his feelings and Victor's, and the more confused he became. And as days bled into weeks and into a month, the confusion boiled into something else, something like anger.

 _Stupid Victor._

He still didn't understand Victor's course of action, but he'd gotten tired of wracking his brain trying to figure it out. If Victor would be an idiot, then Yuuri would take matters into his own hands in the only way he knew, the way that had made his voice reach Victor the first time. And like a gift from heaven (or maybe just from the opening of his own heart) he'd dreamed of that choreography, of that simple, terribly, almost embarrassingly straightforward story, which had accidentally-but-not-entirely-so ended up online (he had intended to send it privately when it was perfected, maybe even fly all the way to St. Petersburg and do it right on his face so he couldn't escape, couldn't take his eyes away, although a part of him was aware that he might not have had the spine to actually do it).

Yuuri had skated one last desperate plea at Love: an outburst of feelings he had tried to keep secret and couldn't (wouldn't, not anymore) a prayer of his heart that clung to hope for dear life.

 _Come back to me._

And now, as Victor soared back into the arms of his other half to perform a final pas de deux, Yuuri could hear it clearly as if Love itself was whispering in his ear: a fated meeting, passionate and indomitable feelings, a moment of regret and then the essence of his whole being torn open, fragile, equally hopeful and fervently adoring.

 _To you, I always will._

No one tried to stop him when he launched himself to the ice this time (and he was briefly grateful for Yurio's foresight in having him wear his skates because had he jumped at the rink with his street shoes he would've slipped and crashed immediately). His heart thundered as he glided precipitously on the ice, ready to throw himself at Victor, all over him, around him, grasp him in a tight embrace and never again letting him walk away. But he halted before he could do that, stopping an inch away from him, eyes trained on his figure, not daring to move a step closer and lose him from his sight, to blink and wake up from the dream that was Victor standing in front of him.

But he'd learned over the past year that Victor wasn't a dream. He was real, and human, flesh and bones, mistakes and insecurities, selfishness and impulsiveness, immaturity and imperfection, and so many more things that made him unfit to be an idol or a hero or a god.

And Yuuri loved him all the more for that.

He raised his hand to let it hover an inch away from Victor's cheek, his mouth dry.

"V-Victor…" he croaked, suddenly not sure of what to say. "What are you doing here?"

Those weren't the right words, he felt, but they also gave him a wonderful sense of déjá vú.

Except the last time he'd uttered those words, Victor hadn't cried.

In fact, Yuuri didn't remember ever seeing Victor cry. Not even when Makkachin got sick. He'd noticed Victor's eyes grow glassy when they'd said their goodbyes at Moscow, the night before the free skate, and when he'd hugged him after winning the Grand Prix gold, and when he'd called Yuuri "his greatest pride" before vanishing from his life, but it always seemed that Victor wanted to keep all his cracks and weaknesses tightly hidden and controlled.

There was no control to be had this time. Victor's nose, cheeks and ears were tinted crimson, his breathing still labored from the exertion and stuttering in soft sobs, fat tears streaming down his face, the skin around his eyes already beginning to swell. Such an ugly crier. Yuuri's heart squeezed at the sight of him, so vulnerable, so unsightly yet beautiful, and most importantly, so… _here_.

"Why are you crying?" he whispered tenderly, voice thick with emotion as he lightly wiped a tear from Victor's cheek with his thumb, and where skin met skin, he burned. He felt his eyes begin to water too.

"Yuuri…" Victor whimpered, not even trying to compose himself , and even like this, his voice made him shiver. "Yuuri I… it's too much."

Yuuri's eyes stayed on Victor's face, taking in his expression and wanting to carve it in his memory, while at the same time wishing nothing would ever make Victor look like this again "What is?" he asked, unwittingly drawing slightly closer.

"It's _too much_." Victor repeated. He circled his fingers around Yuuri's wrist, pulling it away from his face and down to his chest, nudging it to press flat over his left pectoral.

Yuuri could feel it then, and his breathe got caught in his throat. Victor's heart was beating loud, steady, _strong_ against his palm, pounding even through the fabric, as if it was too warm, too big to stay in the confines of Victor's chest. Yuuri caught his bottom lip with his teeth, never breaking eye contact with Victor's glassy blue eyes. Then he smiled, because any doubts he might have had had already been thoroughly wiped out after seeing Victor skate, and then some more by that intense heartbeat that was _definitely_ too much.

And yet…

"What a coincidence." He said with a soft smile, wrapping his free hand around Victor's own, then mirroring his actions by laying Victor's palm right above his heart. Victor inhaled sharply, eyes widening in understanding, his fingers clutching over the fabric of Yuuri's jacket, the tears flooding copiously down his cheeks. And they stood there, quietly, just looking into each other's teary eyes, feeling how their heartbeats fused in a beautiful melody. Not in perfect synchrony, but rather filling out each other's silences in a symphony that only they could hear, like a piano and a violin intertwining and raising each other higher and higher to create a breath-taking harmony.

The silence was pregnant with so, so many words that wished to be spoken, but were not coherent enough. Too many words in fact. Questions, doubts and fears, apologies and regrets, stunted explanations, forgiveness, confessions and promises. And as they watched each other breathe, tears streaming down their faces, they both seemed to realize that all those words were unnecessary, meaningless. Insufficient to express what they both knew, what the music of their heartbeats sang loud and clear.

They kissed.

It wasn't really clear who started it. Maybe Victor asked if it was okay. Maybe Yuuri told him to do it. Or most likely they had found each other halfway, like they always did, nothing to push them into it but the overwhelming need to tear down every inch that kept them apart. They kissed slowly at first, a tender press of lips before they started to glide against each other, trying, testing, growing familiar with this unknown territory, searching for the right moment, the right angle, the right breath.

Victor had often dreamed of kissing Yuuri. And in all his dreams, their first kiss was perfect. Magical. A kiss that would break a curse over an entire kingdom in fairy tales. A kiss that had a soaring orchestra as background music in the climax of a romance movie. A kiss in which all forces of nature mysteriously allied themselves with the lovers, making flowers bloom at their feet and stardust rain over their heads, as if the gods themselves blessed their union.

This was better than all of that.

Their bodies drew closer together, Yuuri's skates framed by Victor's. They still had one hand clutched over each other's heart, but Victor's free hand trailed slowly over Yuuri's arm, to his shoulder, fingers gently sliding over the side of his neck, stopping delicately at his jawline, tilting his head _just so_. He then felt Yuuri's hand roam down his side, tracing the sharp angles of his torso until it reached his waist and circled around it to continue exploring up his back, marking the shape of each and every vertebra and leaving a path of wrinkles on his shirt and goosebumps on his skin. Yuuri sighed against Victor's mouth when his hand reached his shoulder blades and found the nape of his neck, fingers curling into the tips of his silver hair. Victor swallowed a whimper.

Many years ago, Yuuri had convinced himself that whoever was unlucky enough to get his first kiss would probably end up regretting it. Because there was no way Yuuri would know how to do it. His teenage years had come and gone, and with them, the chances to pass it off as a cute moment of mutual naiveté and hormone-induced eagerness that ended in giggles and soft, innocent pecks on the mouth. No, it was going to be horrible, awkward, probably physically painful to the point both parties involved would decide that this wasn't gonna work after all, and really, who had the time to teach a 24 year old how to kiss a lover? Even when he'd dreamed of finally growing confident enough to pull Victor down by his stupidly expensive tie to find his mouth, it always inequivocally ended with him getting laughed at (' _it's okay, Yuuri, you tried'_ ) and the inevitable mortification that followed.

This wasn't anything like that.

In fact, if Yuuri would be allowed to judge in spite of his inexperience, he'd say this was perfect.

It really wasn't as if he knew what he was doing or how he was supposed to do it. Truthfully, he could hardly say he was thinking of anything at all, let alone making any conscious decisions over his body. And yet this was good, this was right. And because he didn't know what he was doing, all he tried was to pour all these months –really, over a year- of pent-up feelings of frustration and longing and hoping and ' _just stay by my side'_.

(' _I will'_ Victor's kisses seemed to respond in the silence, ' _I swear I will'_ )

His heart was burning and he could feel the fire of Victor's heartbeat under his palm, and underneath that fire, underneath all the aching, the tears, the affection, the desire there was this one feeling blooming inside them like the flowers of April. It wasn't quite clear when the seed had been planted, but its roots now bound them together with no hopes of ever releasing them, and that, too, was good and right.

A year ago, for lack of a better word, Yuuri had named that feeling 'love'.

They both knew it was so much more than that.

* * *

There was a key on the reception counter, next to a note written in squiggly English.

 _Yuko said to turn off the lights and lock the place before you leave and I wasn't gonna wait for you to stop sucking face, so now you have to do it._

 _I'm staying at the Nishigoris' because I don't want to listen to you doing disgusting shit at night._

Yuuri smiled as he picked up the note.

"He's a good kid." He muttered absentmindedly, fondness warming up in his heart. He remembered all the calls he'd gotten in the past month, mostly meaningless stuff, how Yurio would try to pass it off as trash talk in the vein of "You better not be chickening out for next season, I'll be the one to beat you" or "If you slack off I'm gonna mop the floor with you with my FS" and of course "I made some of my grandpa's katsudon pirozhki for dinner, by the way how's your diet?". Provocative words with not the slightest edge of malice to them.

He felt the warmth of Victor's chest pressing lightly against his back, hands resting leisurely on Yuuri's hipbones, his chin hooked over his shoulder to peer at the note. "Ah, I'll have to thank him for being my accomplice today." He breathed. Yuuri smiled to himself, thinking he too, ought to show some gratitude for everything Yurio had done. "And apologize too, I put him through a lot of trouble these days."

"Oh, you? Victor Nikiforov? Causing problems for people? You'd _never_."

Victor exhaled a chuckle to Yuuri's ear and mumbled something, but Yuuri didn't listen to it, his eyes finding smaller squiggles at the bottom of the paper.

 _P.S. The dog's staying here too because it doesn't want to hear you being gross either._

Yuuri blinked a couple of times.

"Did you bring Makkachin too?"

Victor nuzzled his shoulder, arms draping around his torso, and Yuuri felt his smile widen against the fabric of his shirt.

"It was my plan B. If my skating didn't sway you, I was going to use your weakness for my cute poodle against you."

"Is that so? But did it occur to you that I could've taken _only_ Makkachin in?"

"Makkachin would never betray me."

"You're severely underestimating our love."

Victor laughed way louder than that little jab should've induced, but Yuuri didn't ask. Before he pocketed Yurio's note, he saw scratches at the very bottom of it only to find out it was even more writing that had been haphazardly crossed out to the point of being barely readable.

 _P.P.S. I'll make sure the demon triplets don't upload that thing on Youtube, so don't worry about that._

Yuuri blushed a little and grinned. He'd ask Mom to give Yurio a super extra large serving of katsudon the next time he came by.

* * *

It was all Victor could do to keep his fingers from quivering (because Yuuri's hand was wrapped around his and he'd _notice_ ) the closer they got to Yu-Topia. A base gut instinct was telling him to escape now, before it was too late. Facing awkward situations head on had never been his thing. The complete opposite in fact.

The Katsukis had accepted him and treated him as one of their own without asking any questions or demanding anything in return. They gave him a room –small, but cozy and warm- and fed him delicious food cooked with love. Before they'd opened the doors of their home to him, he could hardly remember what family _meant_ , let alone what it felt like. And he'd paid them back for all their kindness and trouble by running away like a coward and breaking Yuuri's heart just to spare his own. How could he look them in the eye after that? Even if Yuuri had given him a second chance without even asking any questions (because Yuuri was a blessing, and Victor was horribly unworthy), he doubted the Katsukis would let him back under their roof, and he'd understand if they kicked him out. Maybe a part of him kind of hoped to be yelled at after everything that happened. No one but Yurio had really gotten angry at him (and Yurio's anger was more of a very harsh form of pity, anger was just his go-to thing to channel his feelings). Not even Yakov, whose only reaction when Victor had gone to the rink to talk to him, had been to huff a " _So you finally made up your mind, Vitya_ ", with the closest thing to a smile Victor had seen on him, before Victor could even say a word. Not being the target of anyone's inflamed rage felt kind of anticlimactic, as if he hadn't really gone through enough hardship to compensate for what he'd done.

Before he knew it, and certainly before he had any time to prepare what he was going to say (he'd spent the past two weeks entirely focused on what he wanted to say _to Yuuri_ , he hadn't really taken time to consider how to excuse himself to the other 126,925 inhabitants of Hasetsu, and it had all been worthless in the end because he'd completely forgotten all of it the moment Yuuri had been within his reach and he'd barely babbled incoherent nonsense in a garble of tears) they were already walking through the front door, and his senses were flooded with the smell of katsudon, the welcoming warmth of the inn, the buzz of guests chattering over the sound of the TV, the pleasant earthy colors of the walls, and Yuuri was calling 'I'm back!' while kicking off his shoes, and this was going too fast, he wasn't ready he-

"Yuuri, welcome back, how did—Oh."

Victor held his breathe, waiting for Mrs. Hiroko to say something, _anything_ (he'd really be okay if they threw him out on the street), but she didn't spare him more than a fleeting glance before turning back to her son.

"Yuuri?" she asked.

Victor was standing behind Yuuri, their hands still tightly clasped together, and couldn't see his face, but by the subtle shifts in Mrs. Hiroko's expression, he could tell they were having a sort of silent conversation.

Yuuri didn't say a word. It didn't last long, but it felt like it did, and Victor's lungs were running out of air, but he couldn't bring himself to breathe.

Finally Mrs. Hiroko looked up at him, her face hard and admonishing. "You try and do that again," she warned, and then the tightness on her brow softened, her face now that of a mother who scolds her child, a child she loves but of whom she expects better, knows can do so much better. "Vicchan."

And Victor crumbled again. Without really thinking, he bent himself in half, hands on his knees, the deepest bow he'd ever done, eyes shut tight. "Never" his voice quivered, but his resolve didn't. " _Never_."

Yuuri squeezed his hand softly. Mrs. Hiroko patted him lightly on the head, the little touch purposefully comforting, as if she already knew he was crying.

* * *

By dinnertime, Victor had received at least two dozen more admonishments and polite threats, everything from how Mr. Toshiya squeezed his shoulder a bit too hard while amicably saying "We're happy to welcome you back", the edge of his voice way harsher than his words would indicate, to Mari's "I'll burn all that luggage," _next time_ left unsaid, to a little kid who Victor remembered seeing with his parents at the inn at least once a week sticking his tongue out at him, to some of the regulars sending him quick hard glares and whispering when he walked past them, their voices too low for him to make out most of the words, but not missing all those ' _kuso gaijin_ '.

"I'm really sorry about that." Yuuri muttered in shame as they sat down at the table. "I think Minako-san talks too much when she drinks."

Ah, that was one Victor was actually a little scared of. She looked like she could pack a mean punch if she tried.

"Yuuri, if there's anyone who has no reason to apologize in all of this, that's you. Don't worry about me." He reassured him, unlocking his phone to check his Instagram notifications, one of them a private message from sukeota3sisters that read " _If you make Yuuri-kun cry again we'll unfollow you and throw all the posters away_ ". He smiled.

In truth, he felt complicated emotions about this ordeal. Every time someone sent him a dirty glare, it made him all too aware of how much he'd hurt Yuuri, further convincing him that the excuse of protecting him had been little more than self-indulgence at its finest, and he loathed himself for it. But at the same time, it made him realize how loved Yuuri was, and that thought warmed his heart, because little people were worthy of the love they received as much as Yuuri was. Victor would just have to prove the honesty of his intentions and the strength of his determination, and hopefully then, Hasetsu would welcome him as one of its own again.

Only 126,896 people to go.

* * *

The first time Victor had eaten katsudon, he'd thought it was a meal fit for the gods. Tonight, though, he wondered if even the gods would be unworthy of something so warm and delicious. He could almost taste the affection and care on the crunch of the breaded meat, how it contrasted with the fluffiness of the rice, and how the pork juices mixed with the egg on his tongue.

"Victor? Victor, what's wrong, you're crying again, Victor—"

It really was the taste of home.

* * *

His eyelids were starting to feel heavy, silver lashes briefly obscuring his vision, but he stifled a yawn.

"You look tired. Aren't you jet-lagged?"

Victor blinked a couple of times, chin propped on the heel of his hand. "Not really." He was used to traveling around the world since he was a teenager, his mind had learned to adjust to new timezones fairly quickly. "But I guess I didn't sleep on the plane." On any of them, in fact. Once he'd finished putting together the performance he wanted to show Yuuri, he'd bought the tickets for the flight that would get him to Hasetsu the fastest (and paid for Yurio's too, and Yurio had scolded him saying he was being ridiculous, there was another one that only took 40 minutes longer at a third of the price, but really all the money he owned was worth it if only he could get to see Yuuri _one_ minute sooner), but that still had entailed two layovers and nearly 12 hours total flying. 12 hours he'd spent in a strange middle point of absolute terror that made him nauseous and extremely urgent eagerness that _also_ made him nauseous.

Yuuri jolted. "So you haven't slept in over 24 hours?!" he cursed under his breath. "Come on, let's get you to bed." He yanked Victor up by the wrist and stomped outside of the dining room, then halted and turned back on the opposite direction. Victor had no strength in his body to resist either way. "On second thought, a bath first would be good. Just a little while, your muscles must be exhausted."

Victor smiled, letting himself be dragged through familiar corridors and relishing in the feeling of being taken care of. "Join me?" he managed to ask, a little sheepish.

Yuuri looked back at him as if he'd just said something stupid. "Obviously. Someone has to make sure you don't pass out, you're terrible as deadweight."

It soon dawned on him just how long it had been when he started feeling his cheeks warm as Yuuri stripped off his shirt.

His feelings towards Yuuri's naked body had been unusual -in terms of what normal people felt about other people's nudity anyway- from the beginning. For starters, he'd never been too concerned with the concept of modesty, and while he didn't walk down the streets of St. Petersburg on his birthsuit, he'd also felt no shame stepping into a room full of naked strangers and hot vapors the first day he arrived in Yu-Topia. Then there was the matter of this wonderfully convenient onsen setting that meant he got to see Yuuri naked almost every day without it being a big deal at all. He hadn't thought much of it at first either (at least not after burying the memories of the _things_ he had seen that body do in that dreamlike banquet party), nothing beyond the fact that underneath his clothes, Yuuri certainly had a beautiful figure, even before he shed the extra fat from his waist and thighs and cheeks. It was, no doubt, the perfect instrument to create the music that had enthralled Victor and brought him here in the first place.

As time had passed and he'd started to find himself more and more tangled in the web of Yuuri's seduction (in hindsight, giving Eros to Yuuri had been like setting foot into his own grave), he'd found a mischievous kind of pleasure in being able to lay his eyes on every curve and angle of Yuuri's silhouette, taking little peeks at the supple flesh of his butt, letting his gaze follow drops of water (like he once had champagne) down his neck, trailing his collarbones, his pecs and the abs he'd worked so hard to mark. He wouldn't linger too long though, all too aware of how inappropriate he was already, and instead would keep the little flashes stored in his memory to be later used in the privacy of his own room.

Then at some point –Victor really couldn't pinpoint when exactly- his feelings had become so overwhelming that any contact with Yuuri's body would make him _ache_ , and one day he'd been soaking in the baths when Yuuri had walked in, expectedly naked and beautiful and Victor's heart had performed its best attempt at a triple backflip inside his chest, and he'd had to look away to hide the inevitable blush climbing up his cheeks (later, when Yuuri had asked, he'd blamed it on the heat and made a swift exit before he could be further questioned).

And finally, as he came to terms with his own feelings and the necessity to keep them at bay to be the coach Yuuri deserved, he'd managed to go back to that noncommittal square one of simply appreciating the artistry of Yuuri's body, indulgently appreciating how comfortable Yuuri had grown with him, but never daring to touch unless there were clothes in between to simmer down his raw desire.

Now, as Yuuri walked out of his pants and wrapped a towel around his waist, Victor felt the heat creeping all over his body, from the expanse of his forehead to the tips of his toes, and the all too familiarly over-the-top lurch in his chest. His hands were frozen on his belt buckle.

"Victor?"

He'd thought about Yuuri a lot in the past couple of weeks, mostly because he apparently enjoyed torturing himself and because he couldn't really help it. He'd thought of Yuuri skating, Yuuri smiling, Yuuri crying, Yuuri laughing, Yuuri eating, Yuuri blushing, Yuuri dancing and of course, he'd thought of Yuuri naked. But right now, standing in front of Yuuri, hips unconsciously tilted slightly to the side with the towel dangling dangerously loose from his hipbones, neck stretched to peer up at Victor, skin smooth and glowing, Victor realized just how little justice his memory did to the man in the flesh.

 _He's so beautiful._

"Victor, you do remember you can't get in the bath with your clothes on." Yuuri's slightly amused voice vaguely reached him through his stupor. "Honestly, of all the people I know, you're the one I least expected to have trouble taking their clothes off."

And just like that, the moment of disarray was over, his heartbeat came back to normal, soothing warmth replaced the spark of frenzied heat.

"Forgive me, I'll be done in a minute. You're just… really beautiful."

 _Ah_ ,he'd just said what he was thinking out loud. He burned.

Yuuri blushed light pink and turned his back to him, carefully placing his glasses inside the locker. "I'll be going on ahead then. Don't take long." He mumbled.

Victor was still in a little daze so it took longer than expected to get rid of his clothes and trod his way to the outdoor bath (it was so immensely superior to those indoors). It was still opening hours, so there were a few patrons inside, but none of them turned his way. He heard a faint "Yuuri-kun is too indulgent" but he paid it no mind.

Yuuri was already in the bath, propped on his elbows against the far back of the pool; his cheeks already a healthy ruby red, and water halfway up to his chest. There was something about this situation that felt oddly nostalgic beyond the familiarity of sharing the bath with Yuuri, and it took him a moment to understand what it was.

"Ah!" he gasped, a grin spreading over his face. "Is this the part where you give me a full frontal and proclaim you'll make me win the Grand Prix Final as my coach?"

Yuuri sat up slightly but didn't stand up, looked up at him with his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then glanced around the open bath, taking in the situation and their positions, realization dawning on his features. He blinked rapidly three times and burst out laughing, the water rippling around him with the vibrations of his chest.

"Is that a no? I'm sure the audience would be surprised!" Victor chirped, all too pleased with himself just for being able to make Yuuri laugh.

"I'm just not sure even my expertise would be enough to raise an old slog like you to the podium." Yuuri chirped back, eyes sparkling so bright Victor didn't even feel the jab to his age.

After their laughter died down, Yuuri looked up at him again, one dark eyebrow quirked in expectation. "One would think you don't _want_ to get in, seeing how long it's taking you to do it."

It was just then that Victor realized he'd been standing there like an idiot for five full minutes, so he hurried to dip the tip of his toes in the water, testing it. The moment the heat of the bath touched his skin, it was as if it sucked him in for how fast he let himself slide into it, and once he was submerged down to his shoulders, all the strain he'd put on his body for the last 30 hours or so came crashing over him and then immediately relieved, his muscles loosening under the heat.

"I live!" he cheered, delighted, and Yuuri chuckled.

He allowed the warmth to seep into his bones before he started pacing towards Yuuri, who unexpectedly spread his arms wide open at him, inviting. Victor didn't need to be asked twice. He collapsed into Yuuri's embrace, looping his arms around his waist, all too conscious of the slide of their bare chests against each other. He buried his face in Yuuri's shoulder, inhaling deeply, Yuuri's scent making him dizzy. Yuuri's hands trailed lightly over his arms and draped around his neck, pulling him closer still. They stood unmoving for a moment, relishing in the closeness and familiarity of it, like this was how they were meant to be, warm and tangled in each other.

Yuuri started trailing wet kisses up his neck, mouthing at his jawline. Their bodies dragged against each other and Victor whimpered at the friction. He slid his hands over Yuuri's chest and cupped his chin with the index and middle fingers of his two hands. His eyes caught Yuuri's and saw a reflection of his own fire in them, and he tilted his face so he could slide his mouth against Yuuri's, their breaths catching into the kiss. Easy, just like that, like this was their hundredth kiss rather than their second, their lips fluttering tenderly against each other, slowly building momentum. Yuuri's tongue probed at his lower lip, daring, and Victor was all too happy to comply, parting his lips to allow Yuuri in. His taste was intoxicating, as was the wet slide of their tongues. His body was overheating fast as the kiss grew in intensity. Yuuri's hands were roaming through his hair, lightly pulling his silver locks and drawing low pleasured groans from his throat.

He moaned into the kiss when Yuuri sucked on his tongue, and he felt a slim trail of saliva leak from the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, he grinded his hips forward, and the friction of flesh, even under the steaming water, sent all the blood in his system rushing to the lower half of his body. It only got worse when Yuuri rocked back against him, teeth catching Victor's bottom lip. His nostrils flared trying to get more air into his lungs, but he was mostly unsuccessful. His head was swimming, lust coursing through his veins and he let his hands fall down Yuuri's back until he was teasing at his tailbone.

It took him a moment to realize that Yuuri's hands had dropped from his hair and were pushing at his chest, light but firm and insistent, and he was squirming in his arms. He pulled back from the kiss, unable to stop the whimper that tore from his throat the moment they broke apart, his body suddenly cold in spite of being submerged in steaming hot water.

"I'm sorry, Yuuri, did I make you uncomfortable? I'm really sorry, I got carried away, I—"

"N-no!" Yuuri interrupted him, his breathing shallow. "I-I got carried away too…"

That certainly was not what he expected. Still trying to catch his breath, Victor searched for Yuuri's face, intent on spotting any sign of discomfort, but instead found him looking absolutely ravished: cheeks lit up in crimson, lips red, swollen and wet, warm brown eyes blazing and blown with desire. Victor _ached_ to touch him again.

"But…" Yuuri paused, bringing his breathing back to a normal rate, "I don't… want to rush so much." His eyes were downcast for a moment, but he was quick to look back up at Victor, worry spreading over his features. "I-I _do_ want to do these things with you. Just…"

"Just not yet." Victor finished for him, seeing how he struggled to actually saying it. "It's okay, Yuuri, I'm not mad. I too want us to take our time." He took another step back and opened his arms, inviting. Yuuri blinked up at him but didn't seem to even hesitate before closing in and burying himself in Victor's chest. "I got caught up in the moment earlier, I'm sorry if I scared you."

Yuuri's subsequent huff (so warm against his skin) sounded more annoyed than Victor had expected.

"I'm a grown man, Victor, I'm not _scared_. I already told you I got… a little too into it too. For a moment I even thought that sure, why not, and everything. _I want you_." Victor swallowed thickly, every inch of skin that was touching Yuuri, tingling. "But when I asked myself 'why not' I remembered doing such unsanitary things would get you permanently banned from the onsen."

"What?! Permanently?! No! You might as well kill me already!" Victor screeched melodramatically, and Yuuri laughed.

"Right? I'd be okay since I'm the owners' son, but you, I'm not so sure… My instinct to save you kicked in at the most crucial moment." He giggled, nuzzling into the hollow of Victor's collarbones.

Victor laughed too, pressing his lips to Yuuri's forehead. "Much appreciated."

* * *

Before them stood the door to Yuuri's bedroom, that impenetrable barrier Victor had failed to breech over the course of a year. And now that it stood open, he felt slightly terrified of trespassing it.

"So I'm not getting the banquet room this time?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Yuuri eyed him as if he was evaluating him. "Business has picked up since I came back, we couldn't afford to keep it closed." He stated simply. "We have plenty of spare futons, I can lay one down for you." He continued, his fingers wrapped around Victor's wrist and tugging him inside the room. "But you spent months nagging me about… sleeping together and when I actually let you do it, it was awful, so I think you owe me some form of compensation." He squeezed Victor's wrist, fingers shaking, and the memory of that last night before the free program at Worlds also squeezed Victor's heart. "Unless you're really against it, our futons are good too. And the bed's gonna be cramped anyway so-"

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri's shoulders, pulling him back tight against his chest. "Yuuri, _please_ let me sleep with you."

Yuuri shivered and nodded, and after a moment that felt like neither of them wanted to pull away, finally stepped off from Victor's embrace to remove his glasses, place them on the nightstand, and climb on the bed, then sat on the corner closest to the wall, looking at him expectantly. Victor fidgeted on his spot, a wave of insecurity and awful memories of that night in Helsinki pinning him to the ground, but one more glance at Yuuri's determined eyes propelled him forward.

His knee had barely touched the mattress when Yuuri quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you… keeping your clothes on?"

That, he hadn't seen coming. "I thought we'd decided to take it slow?"

Yuuri burned crimson. "Wh— _No_! I didn't mean it like that!" he buried his face in his palms. "You always sleep naked." He declared flatly, slipping under the bedsheets.

"Oh. I figured it would bother you."

Yuuri sighed, exasperated. "Victor, you're 14 months too late to be worrying about whether you being naked bothers me. I'm just saying it's already gonna be cramped in this small bed anyway, at least make yourself as comfortable as possible."

Victor's lips stretched in a lopsided grin. "Yuuri's always taking such good care of me."

He pulled at the string of his robe to undo the top. When he pushed it off his shoulders, he looked up and saw Yuuri had turned his back to him, but there was no mistaking the blush on his visible ear. It was unfairly adorable. He stepped out from the olive green shorts, leaving only his black briefs on (not his usual choice of underwear, but more comfortable for flying). Finally, he took one more deep breathe to encourage himself, and slipped under the covers, lying on his side to face Yuuri's back. He leaned in to kiss Yuuri's ear before laying his head down on the pillow, letting Yuuri's scent wrap around him. The bed was indeed small, but Victor was perfectly fine with pressing his chest to Yuuri's back and holding him as close as possible.

Before he could drape his arm over Yuuri's waist to spoon against him, Yuuri turned around to face him. It was hard to make out his expression in the darkness, but he couldn't miss the look of hesitation in his brown eyes. The thought that maybe Yuuri was uncomfortable with this after all crossed his mind, but before he could voice it, Yuuri cut him off.

"Victor?… promise… promise you'll be there when I wake up?" His eyes flickered to the side, then back to Victor's "Ah, no, I just…" he sputtered, flustered "If you need to get up early or go to the bathroom or something" he paused again, his eyes turned glassy "just wake me up so I can _see you…_ I…" he looked away again, chewed on his lip, his voice quivered "If I open my eyes and you're not here I don't…"

Victor heard the crack of his heart shattering in a million pieces.

"Yuuri…"

Yuuri rubbed his eyes and shook his head vehemently. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you feel bad or anything. I'm sure I'll get over it eventually but tonight I need…" His chest tightened when he remembered the last time he'd taken his eyes off Victor, gliding outside of the rink, having to be dragged to the kiss and cry to see his own scores because ' _have you seen Victor, he was right here, where's Victor, he said he was proud of me so why isn't he here_ ', and all the times in the past two months that he'd woken up alone after a cruelly hopeful dream.

Victor wrapped his hands around Yuuri's, regret and guilt piercing his heart. "I'm sorry Yuuri. I'm _so_ sorry. I never… I never wanted to… Of course I'll be here with you, right where you can see me. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day after that." He squeezed Yuuri's hands tighter and brought them to his lips to kiss each knuckle reverently. "I promise."

Yuuri swallowed back tears that had started to burn at the back of his eyes and he allowed himself to smile. "Okay." He breathed, relief washing over him. "Thank you."

They laid there, quietly looking at each other's eyes, breathing deeply and slowly, a different sort of tension building in the air. Yuuri looked like he had more to say, more he wanted to ask. And although he was exhausted, and the dark of the room and the warmth of the bed were really doing a most excellent job in bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness, Victor felt he couldn't let this day end without coming clean entirely.

"Do you want to talk about _it_?"

Maybe he shouldn't be so vague when there were so many things they needed to talk about. And yet, by the look of Yuuri's eyes, he seemed to perfectly understand which of them Victor was referring to.

"I… I do but if you're not ready for it yet, I understand."

Victor took a deep breath. Yuuri was offering a free out of jail card, even when he was completely entitled to an explanation, just like he'd offered Victor a way back into his arms when he was in all his right to push him away and never look back at him. It still managed to marvel him, just how lucky he was to be chosen by Yuuri, and how hard he'd have to work to give back all that Yuuri had given him.

"No, I… I think this is something we _should_ talk about. And I also don't want to leave it hanging. I want you to understand that it was… you never did anything wrong. When I said you're my biggest pride, I wasn't lying. And it wasn't that I didn't have feelings for you either…" He wanted to at least make that clear from the start, leave no room for misunderstandings, give Yuuri no reason to feel that any of it had been his fault.

As he tried to explain himself, the words started to sound very absurd in his ears. He'd been very convinced of his decisions when he'd talked to Yurio in St. Petersburg, but now, with Yuuri's large eyes peering into his soul, brows furrowing occasionally, he was beginning to think Yurio's initial bewilderment hadn't been that strange a reaction after all.

"Is that all?" Yuuri asked, an eyebrow quirked, no amusement to be found on his face.

Victor swallowed, and nodded.

Yuuri sighed.

"It's way more stupid than I imagined."

Okay, so he didn't expect a lot of understanding from this Yuuri either, but he also hadn't expected to get the exact same reaction.

"The media, Victor? Some nonsense on a Wikipedia page? _Seriously_? Did you really think I'd care about something like that? Didn't you see me skate throughout the season, didn't you realize I was doing it _for you_?"

Victor chewed on his lip, his heart twisting painfully. "I did know. But I also know you _do_ care about what people think, that you can get easily hurt by words, and that you doubt yourself often. I was… I was afraid that people would spread nasty rumors about you that would make you lose your self-confidence. I thought I couldn't let that happen."

Instead of appeased, Yuuri looked even more upset. He tugged his hands free of Victor's fingers and clutched the bedsheet under him tightly.

"So you didn't trust that I could win them over with my performance?"

"What? _No_! No, of course not! God, Yuuri, no!" This had been a bad idea after all, he shouldn't have said anything, maybe he shouldn't have come back at all. "I'm the one that loves your skating more than anyone in the world, I never once doubted you could make them love you."

"Then how's that any reason to leave?!"

Victor tightened his fists, his fingernails digging painfully into the palms of his hands. He felt that familiar coil of instinct building up in his gut, telling him to run away, run away now, because he'd rather do that than face his own stupidity.

He couldn't physically run away though, because he'd promised Mrs. Hiroko, and Yuuri and himself. And mostly because he _didn't want to_ , he realized. Because he was selfish, and now that he finally had Yuuri in his arms, he wanted to cling to him for dear life. So he did the second most cowardly thing and tried to run away from it verbally.

"If it's any compensation, I was deeply miserable. I couldn't even skate. Yurio can tell you how pathetic I acted."

In hindsight, hoping something like that would work had been yet another of the biggest foolishness in his life. Had he ever done anything actually smart at all? (yes he had, he'd impulsively hopped on that plane to Japan clinging to an unforgettable dance and a Youtube video, and he'd found Yuuri).

Yuuri sat up, eyes blazing.

"Why would that be any compensation? I don't want you to be miserable! Why would I? Why do you think something like that would make me feel any better?!"

And even in the fire of fury, even after hearing of his stupid, stupid decision-making process, even after being hurt by him repeatedly, Yuuri still cared about him, worried for his well-being, still gave him a place to reside in his heart. It was way more than Victor would ever deserve.

"I might have… been trying to make excuses for myself." He finally admitted, rolling over to his back before sitting up too. "Yuuri the truth is I… What I feel for you… It was too much. It _is_ too much. I didn't… I didn't know how to handle it." He touched his fingers to where his heart was beating, unsteady and afraid. "It's so overwhelming to me, I thought for sure it would be more than you would want to deal with. Even in the off chance that you might love me as more than a coach and an idol and a source of support I thought for sure that… That there was no way it was okay for me to feel as much as I do. That it would scare you, because it is scary for me too. It's… I felt that it would consume me, sooner or later, and if I let myself get closer to you, it would end up hurting you too."

Yuuri bent his knees and pulled them towards his chest, his eyes downcast as if he'd been wounded. "So what you didn't trust was _my_ feelings for you."

For someone who said he wasn't trying to make him feel bad, Yuuri sure knew the exact words to twist that metaphorical dagger deeper and deeper inside his chest.

"No, _Yuuri_ …" He stopped himself. Yuuri was right. He'd never even allowed himself to entertain the thought that Yuuri might have real feelings for him, feelings that matched his own. He'd promised to himself that he wouldn't underestimate Yuuri, but in the end he'd done just that. The hand above his heart clung painfully to his naked flesh. "I just… I didn't want to hurt you. You know I'm… not good with feelings. I hurt people without realizing it and then I don't know how to fix it. And I thought that… that because my feelings are like _this_ , sooner or later I'd end up doing something stupid and hurting you and I—"

"Which is exactly what you did." Yuuri cut through, ice cold.

Victor winced. "I guess that's true." He could have laughed. "That's precisely my point, isn't it? I don't… I don't know what to do with these feelings. I'd never wanted anything or anyone the way I want you. And it's so, _so much_ , Yuuri that all I think is how I want to make things right by you, and I arrive at stupid conclusions and do it all wrong. I went so far thinking I was protecting you and instead I just… ruined everything." His fingers trembled. "And I'm gonna end up doing it again, and you deserve so much better." The words were bitter in his mouth.

Yuuri's hand shot to wrap around his wrist, and the next moment, the wind was knocked out of his chest, a heavy weight pushing him on his back against the mattress. He opened his eyes to find Yuuri pinning him down, brown eyes glassy with tears, lips trembling with frustration.

"I don't care about that!" his voice quivered, raw. "I never expected you to be perfect, never hoped _we_ would be perfect. I already know you're insensitive and that you say the wrong things at the worst times. But I also know I'm selfish and petty and insecure. I've always known you'll hurt me, and that I'll hurt you too. And sometimes we won't mean it, but sometimes I'll make you cry on purpose, and other times you'll do stupid things just to piss me off. And there'll be days we won't even want to see each other, let alone sleep under the same roof. But there'll also be days in which you make me laugh and I make you laugh, and days in which I'll want nothing more than to see you smile, and you'll do the most ridiculous things just to surprise me. And I know that, come what may, we'll get through it and always come out stronger together. I feel it, right here."

He pulled Victor's hand and pressed it against his chest, where he could feel Yuuri's erratic heartbeat. "It _is_ too much, Victor!" Tears slid down his flushed cheeks, his other hand curled over Victor's own heart. "It's _so much_ I can't hold on to it alone. It _has_ to be the two of us." Victor's heart was thumping violently, as if it wanted to tear his chest open, just so Yuuri's hand would actually touch it. "I want us to be happy, together. And I know we can be; that's all that matters to me."

Tears welled up in Victor's eyes. With his free hand, he reached to touch Yuuri's cheek and wipe a pearl-like tear away. His body felt light and warm, and his chest fluttered with hope and all the life and love that Yuuri had given him.

"I want it too. To be happy with you."

Yuuri leaned into his touch, a smile growing on his face, dazzling, his eyes sparkling like stars with joy, and Victor felt himself smile too.

"Then let's be."

"Let's."

* * *

Victor's phone beeped loudly thrice at some point in the middle of the night, three new messages on his inbox. The first one came from an unknown number and it read:

 _(02:43) You better play it smarter this time, Mr. Ex-champion. I'm good at finding people and I keep my blades sharp -Phichit Chulanont_

Victor might have laughed that off if not for the fact that he'd never given that kid his number. Or that no one that wasn't currently in Hasetsu should know he was here, let alone why. Except Yakov, and probably Mila since she was smart. He suppressed a shiver and checked the next two messages, both from Chris

 _(02:45) Still alive? Your insta's been dead for months_

 _(02:45) I know I called you a dick, but at least let me know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere_

Victor peered down at the mop of black hair nuzzled in the crook of his neck. He raked his fingers through soft raven locks and pressed a fleeting kiss to the crown of Yuuri's head. Yuuri sighed in his sleep and snuggled closer, his leg draping over Victor's.

He tapped a quick response and sent it before turning the phone to silent mode.

 _Never been better._

* * *

Loud knocking on Yuuri's door woke him up at an unknown time in the morning.

Yuuri's eyes fluttered open and found a pair of blues staring at him, glassy with sleep, and brimming with affection, the curl of a smile on his lips.

 _You're here._

His first breathe of the new day was deep, unleashing any fear or anxiety that may have coiled around his heart in those first seconds of awakening uncertainty. He reached with one hand to cup Victor's cheek, his heart fluttering when Victor leaned into the touch.

"ARE YOU DECENT!" came Yurio's hollering voice from the hallway, probably booming over the entire inn.

Yuuri felt himself blush when the haze of sleep started to dissipate and he found himself still tightly tangled in Victor's arms. He nudged Victor away and unwrapped himself from the embrace, ignoring the protests ("Nooo, Yuuri, come back to bed"), then retrieved his glasses from the nightstand and padded over to the door. The moment he slid it open, a large weight pounced him back to the floor, and before he could process what was happening, something wet and hot was sliding all over his face.

"Makkachin!" he squealed, delighted, wrapping his arms around the poodle's head and letting his fingers dig into soft fur.

"I'm never babysitting your stupid dog ever again, every time anyone said 'Yuri', it would start bouncing off the walls." Yurio spat. "I know dogs resemble their owners but this one takes it too far."

He heard Victor chuckle from the bed. "Yuri, stop being so rude to Makkachin, he likes you, you know?" Yuuri twisted his neck away from Makkachin –who was pawing at his chest with excitement- to find Victor's eyes trained on him, his arm dangling off the edge of the bed, the corners of his eyelids wrinkling slightly with mirth. It was a good look on him.

Yurio snarled, pointing his finger at Victor. "I already told you to stop calling me Yuri, it sounds _gross_ when you say it."

The implication, and flashes of memories from the bath last night, made Yuuri blush a darker shade of red.

"Okay, okay, if that's what you want I'll keep it in mind, _Yurio_."

Yurio then huffed, probably annoyed by Victor's absolute nonchalance, and turned heel.

"Ah, Yurio, wait." Yuuri was finally able to nudge Makkachin down to his lap so he could sit up. "If you're hungry you can stay for breakfast, Mom's probably already counting on it. You can soak in the baths while it's done, it's on the house."

His sharp green eyes softened for a split second, his pale cheeks growing the slightest tinge of pink. "Fine." He conceded, as if he was doing them a favor. "But if you start acting gross in front of me, I'm cutting you both." He snapped sliding the door closed again. Yuuri heard his hurried steps draw further away and smiled.

Once the sound of Yurio's footsteps had drifted into the distance, he also heard feet padding softly over the tatami floor, then felt Victor kneeling behind him, wrapping his arms around his torso.

"Yurio's right, though."

"Hm?"

"Makkachin does resemble his owner a bit too much." He nuzzled the crook of Yuuri's neck. "He missed you about as much as I did."

Yuuri's breathe caught for a moment and his eyes felt warm. He leaned back into Victor's embrace while pulling Makkachin closer to his chest, his fingers scratching behind his floppy ears. "I missed you too." He said softly, a single tear of relief slipping down his cheek, and although his eyes were on the overly excited poodle, he wasn't the only one he was talking to.

* * *

As expected, Minako did pack a mean punch. Well, more like a kick, but her punches were likely to be strong too. The whole scene would've probably been hilarious to any observers, a tall Russian man being sent flying by a petite Japanese ballet teacher who'd stormed into the inn like a hurricane yelling more profanities than Yurio probably knew.

If asked, Victor would say it was totally worth it, if only because he was able to spend half of the day with his head on Yuuri's lap, Yuuri nursing the throbbing bump at the back of his head with a pack of ice, while Minako chastised him for being "too quick to forgive" and an "irredeemable softy".

* * *

"Say, Yuuri, I know you were rather adamant about retiring after this so-called peak of yours…" Victor mused, turning to his side to look Yuuri in the eye, silver hair scattering over the pillow. "But what do you say about giving it one more run, you and me?"

Yuuri blinked at him, eyebrows drawn in a confused frown. "Victor, it's already June-"

"We still have about two weeks to submit papers."

"And I don't have any program ready at all."

"There's still time, competitions start until late October."

"But Victor—"

Two fingers were placed over Yuuri's lips. "Hear me out a bit? If you still don't want to do it afterwards, then we won't, but let me at least try to tempt you with this, okay? It'll be the best surprise ever!"

Yuuri chuckled and tilted his head to kiss the fingers on his lips. "Alright then, Mr. Living Legend, tempt me."

Victor beamed.

* * *

"Not to say we don't like having you around, but won't you get in trouble with your coach, Yurio? You've been here for two weeks."

With scary accuracy, Victor's phone lit up with a text the moment Yurio said "Yakov gave me permission to stay until August, and Victor still owes me on that promise, so you better help me polish my program during this time. You too, Katsudon."

"Oh? But I thought you didn't need the pathetic current me's help at all?" Victor teased, absentmindedly unlocking his phone.

The text was from Yakov, and it just said " _Tell your Katsuki Yuuri to stop stealing my best athletes_."

Victor doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach, small tears quickly slipping down his cheeks.

"Victor? Why are you—Oh, no, did Phichit-kun send you another embarrassing Detroit story, whatever it is, it's an exaggeration, don't—"

He struggled to catch his breath and wheeze, "I think Yakov's grown fond of you" before dropping to the floor to continue laughing, Yuuri staring at him utterly confused.

* * *

The assignments came out on the last day of June.

"I got the Rostelecom Cup again, but Yurio isn't there this time." Yuuri mused out loud.

"That's good, the crowd up there already loves you." Victor responded nonchalantly, eyes scanning the screen as his hands carded through Makkachin's fur. "Ah, maybe Mr. Plisetzky will want to meet the guy responsible for making his grandson obsessed with katsudon."

Yuuri was about to object that Moscow was a big city and Yurio's grandfather would probably have better things to do than meeting a random guy from Japan, but he remembered the taste of the special pirozhki Yurio had shared with him last year and it made him curious to meet the man who'd come up with the idea too.

"I also got Skate America with Leo-kun and…" his eyes widened for a moment. "Ah! Minami-kun is in it too!"

"You mean that little fanboy of yours from regionals?"

"I wouldn't call him a _fanboy_ ," he ignored Victor's remarks about a cheering squad and ' _he probably has more posters of you than you have of me_ ' "but last time he said he wanted to compete with me at the Grand Prix series. To be honest I was feeling a little guilty about retiring and not fulfilling that promise, so I'm excited he made it this year."

"Hm, but that means you don't have any events with—"

Yurio stormed into the room, slamming the door open.

"What's with that face? I thought you'd be thrilled to know you'll compete with your _best friend_ at the Trophée. You should bring him some souvenirs, I bet he'd like that."

"What the—Otabek's not my—Don't change the subject, Victor what the _fuck_ is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, pointing at his phone that presumably had the GPS assignments on the screen. Yuuri didn't say anything about how Victor hadn't mentioned Otabek's name at all.

Victor looked up at the specific line he was pointing at, then cocked his head and batted his silver eyelashes with badly feigned innocence. "Oh? You didn't know?"

"Of course I didn'—agh!" Yurio's nostrils flared, but his anger deflated instantly in the face of Victor's crushing indifference, so he turned to Yuuri instead, pointing at him with his finger. "You better not screw up, _I'm_ gonna be the one to crush you at the Finals!" he turned heel and headed for the front door instead of retreating back into the inn.

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business!"

Victor laughed. "I bet he's going to buy souvenirs for his not-best-friend."

* * *

They made love for the first time the night before Yuuri left for Moscow.

There was nothing in particular to trigger it. One moment Yuuri was finishing packing, the next they were falling on the bed and into each other in a tangle of kisses and limbs and discarded clothes and unbridled passion.

In a fleeting moment of lucidity, Victor tore himself away from Yuuri's demanding mouth (and Yuuri _whimpered_ at the loss, probably his best attempt at murder so far) and looked up at his glazed brown eyes, glasses crooked on his nose, with all the seriousness he could muster.

"Yuuri are you sure…?" a part of him felt the question was unnecessary, but another, smarter, knew he couldn't go any further if he wasn't entirely certain.

The way Yuuri's hands cupped his face gave him an answer before Yuuri himself could. "I am." He enunciated the words firm and clear. "Are you?"

Victor smiled, heat coursing through his body. "Absolutely." He pulled Yuuri's glasses off delicately to place them on the night stand. Slowly, he let himself lay down on the mattress, pulling Yuuri along to lie on top of him; bare chests flush against each other, blue eyes trained on brown ones. They inhaled and exhaled deeply, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Yuuri's hand touched Victor's chin, his thumb dragging slowly over his bottom lip. Victor didn't think about it and let his tongue out just enough to taste Yuuri's finger.

"But is it okay? Your family's here and I know the walls are literally paper-thin." He sucked the tip of Yuuri's thumb into his mouth and stared at him hotly while he said it.

Yuuri smirked "Well, you'll just have to try your best to stay quiet." He said, provoking, lightly pressing Victor's bottom lip, and seizing the opportunity to slide their lips together, probing Victor's pliant mouth open with his tongue.

All the heat in Victor's body rushed to his loins, and soon Yuuri was swallowing Victor's moans and whimpers, their bodies grinding against each other with little to no restraint.

About this, too, Victor had thought quite often, probably more than was decent for a coach towards his student or generally from a man towards another, especially one that he was sure wouldn't reciprocate the entire spectrum of his affections. And yet, time and time again, he'd allowed himself to want, to savor the idea that he could be Yuuri's _first,_ to dream of unleashing all of his desires on Yuuri, of showing this man how love could be as pure as it was obscene, as sinful as it was beautiful. He'd visualized himself guiding Yuuri's inexperienced body through every form of ecstasy, lighting up explosions of fireworks and stars inside Yuuri's eyes, being consumed in mutual passion. He'd fantasized of taking Yuuri, all of him and giving up all of himself back to Yuuri, of letting their bodies and hearts and souls shatter in a million pieces only to be fused together and become something entirely new.

"Yuuri…" he mewled, impatient and needy, "Yuuri…" and gods, he loved the sound of that name, how it tasted in his mouth, and it wasn't because the name was foreign or exotic –it wasn't at all- but since the day he'd first come to link that name to this man he couldn't help the rush of joy and want and love. "Yuuri…" and he looked up at him, spreading his arms wide in surrender, his vision already clouded with lust, but he hoped it would be enough to convey his thoughts.

Yuuri's eyes widened and he swallowed thickly. Victor was looking up at him, and his eyes spoke of promises that made heat coil in his gut. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of this before. He'd in fact thought of it during countless feverish rushes of hormones, his teenage mind all too eager to supply inappropriate visions of the man whose face littered his walls. And he'd thought about it even more once he'd learned the shapes and colors of Victor's body underneath his glittery costumes, had tried repeatedly to wash those thoughts away, but his mind had never been much concerned with propriety, it would seem. But unlike his old, hopeless thoughts of a miserable first kiss, his dirtier fantasies of the flesh assumed Yuuri knew things he certainly did not. And the sight of Victor like that –lips wet and kiss-red, whispering his name softly like he worshipped it, eyes dark and wanting, body flushed pink, and arms spread wide and open, as if he was offering all of himself- made him really wish he had the slightest clue of how to actually do this, how to satisfy this man the way he did in his dreams, how to share with him a moment of the most intimate pleasure, and he couldn't help fearing this would somehow end in disappointment.

"Victor?" he finally dared to ask. "I… I've never actually done this before." He wondered if Victor would laugh at him for stating the obvious. "So I don't… know if it'll actually be any good."

Unexpectedly, Victor beamed and reached up to cup his face in his hands and pull him down into a slow kiss.

"If it's with you, it'll definitely be good." He whispered tenderly against Yuuri's mouth. "Don't think about it, Yuuri, I'll help you if you need it." He kissed him again and once more spread his arms open, his voice dropping an octave. "Make love to me, Yuuri. I'm all yours."

Yuuri's breathe caught in his throat. "All… _mine_?" he licked his lips absentmindedly, drinking in the sight before him, the meaning of the words he'd just heard.

"All yours, my love. _Always_ yours."

Yuuri leaned down to kiss him deep and demanding, his hands roaming over flushed skin and hard-trained muscles. "If you're going to be mine…" he breathed in between wet kisses, "then I want to be yours too."

Victor moaned into the kiss, arching his back into Yuuri's touch wantonly "Please, Yuuri…" he whimpered " _Please_ …"

And Yuuri did as he'd been told and stopped thinking, giving in to the unadultered heat and uncoordinated desire, and it was so much sweeter than any dream he could remember. He let himself explore and experiment and love Victor with his mouth, and his hands and his body (and his heart, he'd always love Victor with his heart above all things), and let Victor love him back raw and intense and earth-shattering. He could feel Victor's heart against his palm, and Victor's palm pressed over his own heartbeat, and he didn't really know when this had become their _thing_ , but it was now, and he wouldn't want it any other way, even when Victor's fingernails dug slightly into his flesh, even when he knew he'd be leaving crescent-shaped marks over Victor's heart. Their bodies mingled as did their voices and their breaths and their heartbeats and then they let go and Yuuri felt himself die a little, the most beautiful stars he'd ever seen bursting into colorful fireworks in his eyes.

* * *

"Yuuri, can I make a selfish request?"

Yuuri propped himself up on his elbow, owlish eyes blinking up at him. "Oh? Are you saying all the previous ones were acts of pure altruism?"

Victor pinched Yuuri's cheek with a huff. "To think there was a time you were too shy to talk to your idol. At least while sober." He chastised playfully, pulling the soft flesh of Yuuri's cheek lightly. Yuuri rolled his eyes because no one would ever let him live that banquet party down.

"So what is this selfish request of yours?" he folded his arms over Victor's chest, resting his cheek on the back of his hands, gaze fixed on Victor's face.

With his two hands, Victor nudged Yuuri's hips to have him lie on top of him again, warm and comfortable, then cupped his jaw and tilted his face until they were at eye level and he was sure Yuuri wouldn't miss a single word he'd say.

"I want you to bite me." He let go of Yuuri's face to drag two fingers over his own neck. He could see Yuuri's eyes growing darker as they followed the path of his fingers over his skin. He stopped when he reached the juncture of his neck and shoulder and tapped on the spot twice. "Right here."

Yuuri's eyes widened like saucers. "People will _see_."

Victor smirked. "That's precisely the point." He stroked Yuuri's cheek with his thumb. "You're the man that stole me from the world, aren't you? The next time I'm in front of the cameras, I want them to know I'm yours."

Crimson roses blossomed on Yuuri's cheeks and he sucked in a quiet gasp. His fingers touched the spot Victor had chosen tentatively, marveling at the unmarred ivory skin, a shiver climbing up his spine at the idea of soiling it. His eyes flickered to find Victor's brimming with excitement.

"Okay." He breathed, and leaned down to place a small kiss on the spot, then nip at the skin softly, experimenting. Victor's breath hitched when he licked the spot, a quivering moan leaving his lips. Yuuri was finding that drawing sounds of pleasure from Victor's mouth made him feel bold. "But…" he paused, and gave a light tug at the skin with his teeth. "You give me one too. Not—not where it's visible, just… somewhere I can _feel_ you even if you're not there." He sank his teeth on the unblemished patch of flesh then, still not deep enough to leave a mark, but certainly enough to make Victor moan and arch his back off the bed, fingers digging encouragingly into Yuuri's scalp. Yuuri felt a light poke on his thigh and he pulled away from Victor's neck, eyebrows quirked in amusement. "I thought you didn't have the stamina for a round two?"

Victor smiled sheepishly; his pale cheeks dusted a healthy pink. "I have to keep surprising you somehow, don't I?"

* * *

The next morning Minako pointed out how Yuuri's skin looked soft and glowy. Yurio looked at both of them like he was planning a murder and demanded that Victor either bought him earplugs for the night or soundproofed their bedroom, or both. Yuuri blushed scarlet and whined 'I told you to be quiet', and Victor was halfway through a 'but you said you liked my voice' quip when Mrs. Hiroko walked in and shot them a _look_ , and Victor suddenly wished the ground would swallow him alive.

* * *

Hours later, they caught each other in what was meant to be a short but tight goodbye hug that ended with Yuuri almost missing his flight because Victor wouldn't let go and Yuuri didn't want him to either. It took all of Victor's strength to keep Makkachin from following Yuuri through the boarding gates.

 **TBC**

As is always the case in my life, this turned out way longer than expected so once again I had to cut it off in half, sorry if the cut-off point seems random.

I want to send a shout-out to **insk4te** on tumblr for answering all my figure skating related questions, even if I end up making travesties out of the knowledge that is bestowed upon me.

Random comments about this:

\- Yurio got in the bath instead of waking Yuuri first because he was tired of fucking flying and really fucking likes the onsen. Yurio is weak.

-When I was looking for flights from St. Petersburg to Fukuoka, there was one that was like 2300 USD and then there was another one that was like 900 USD and only took 40 minutes longer. Good thing we know for fact that Victor is filthy rich.

-126,926 is the actual population of Karatsu, Japan, the town in which Hasetsu is based.

-Phichit Chulanont is the captain of the Official Katsuki Yuuri Defense Squad and I wish I could've given him more moments but I couldn't find anywhere to fit them.

-We don't really know if Minami has enough international presence to earn himself a GP event, but god knows my writing brand is to make exhaustive research about a given subject only to take all of the artistic licenses I can with it.

-I feel I have ascended as a Stammi Vicino obsessive fan because I made such a big deal about the "touching hearts" thing for them even though I didn't remember the lyrics specifically talk about "heartbeats merging together". Like tbh I thought I was overdoing it with the cheesiness there, but now that I realize it's actually a Stammi Vicino thing there is no way I'm tuning down on that.

-Katsuki Yuuri is a queen of sass and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

-Victor Nikiforov is a needy bitch for Yuuri and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

-Victor is very apprehensive about making a good impression in front of his in-laws. He'll bend himself over backwards to earn their approval. He will forever be ashamed of the fact that the Katsukis know the exact date in which he took their only son's virginity.

I hope this has healed your souls. Chin up, trust the writers and remember that Love Wins. I'm very much looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this


	3. Part III: on the path we walk together

**Part III: on the path we walk together**

" _The crowd is vibrating with excitement as we prepare for reigning Grand Prix champion Katsuki Yuuri to take the ice. Many had speculated that his brilliant run last year was all due to Victor Nikiforov's coaching, but even without Nikiforov as his coach he gave us a stellar performance yesterday at the short program."_

" _Katsuki has refused to answer any questions about what may have caused his split with Nikiforov, is it possible they had a major disagreement?"_

Yuuri fiddled with his phone one last time, hesitant. He had about two minutes before he had to step into the rink. He knew feeling this nervous was ridiculous, but it was still strange to stand here like this, alone. Even if in his heart, he knew he wasn't, the lingering memory of gliding to the kiss & cry to find out Victor was _really gone_ still made his heart sink.

And in that precise moment, his phone rang.

" _I'm right here_." came the soothing voice before he even had the chance to say anything, and although there were thousands of miles between them, it felt as if he was standing right next to him. Yuuri's eyes burned and he touched the spot above his hipbone. If he pressed it a little deeper, he could still feel the throb of the mark that was just beginning to fade, and that little jolt of pain grounded him.

"I know."

" _That costume looks perfect on you. I wish I could see it in person. Hold you while you wear it._ "

He swallowed hard and felt himself smile. "You will, soon. So for now watch me."

" _I always am_."

He shrugged off his jacket after he'd tucked his phone in one of the pockets, and stepped out to the ice, to the roaring welcome of the crowd.

" _Japan's Katsuki Yuuri, ladies and gentlemen! He finished first yesterday after the short program, but last year his free wasn't completely refined at the start of the season, so we might see a repeat of that tonight."_

" _He's said his theme for this season is—"_

The first notes of the violin drowned every other noise in the rink. Yuuri took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around himself.

At all times, he could feel intense, ice blue eyes on him.

* * *

" _We're reporting live from the NHK Trophy in Sapporo, and it's an exciting day here at this, the third event of the Grand Prix Series! After taking a year off competition, Russia's living legend and five time Grand Prix champion Victor Nikiforov is now taking the ice for his free program and the crowd is going wild!"_

" _Nikiforov gave us a spectacular performance yesterday for the short program and landed first place. He's starting this season strong and looks ready to get back the crown from his former student Katsuki Yuuri from Japan, who recently earned silver at the Rostelecom Cup."_

" _There has been no official statement from either party to explain the termination of their coach-student relationship, but it will be interesting to see these two champions face off at the Finals."_

Victor smiled as he greeted the audience with open arms, waving and blowing kisses at the cameras, hoping one of them would be the one sending its footage back to Yuuri. It was immensely amusing to hear the bewilderment in the announcers' voices as they scrambled to try and come up with some explanation to his "break" with Yuuri. If only they knew.

He wished Yuuri could be here now just so he could say " _I told you they'd be surprised_!"

Oh, and the surprises were only getting started.

He started moving as soon as he heard the first notes of the piano. The announcers' voices were getting lost in the loud cheering of the crowd.

" _He's told us he wants to dedicate this program to 'the person who gave him life and love'. His theme for this season is actually the same as—"_

This program was harsh. Getting back to competition after a year was way more difficult than he'd anticipated. The ice on his blades and the roar of the crowd made his blood pump, goosebumps rising on his skin. After the fourth jump, exhaustion was already starting to pull at his muscles, and he could almost hear his hipbone whining at the abuse, but he couldn't afford to falter. If people were going to remember him for something, he wanted it to be this program, and for that purpose, he had to do it justice. He needed to get his mind to the right place, the core of his inspiration.

" _Are you actually trying to kill me, Yuuri? I don't have your stamina, you know that."_

Yuuri had smirked at him, provoking. " _Must I remind you this was your idea to begin with? Or are you giving up on me already, old man? Aren't you feeling too self-complacent? Do you really think you can beat me with any less than this_?"

" _Alright, then, but if I manage to survive this season you'll have to massage my legs every day for the rest of my life_."

"Medal _this season and we can negotiate a once-a-week service_."

Victor had kissed him then, quick and enticing; then licked his lips for good measure, " _Deal_."

" _For his last jump he's planned a quadruple flip. It's his signature move, but he's never done it this late in the program, let's see if he can overcome the exhaustion and… A Quad Flip! Amazing! He's landed it! Marvelous execution! The crowd is on fire! Victor Nikiforov is taking his first gold of the season today, and we're sure it won't be his last!"_

He struck his final pose drawing his hands from the joint of his neck and shoulder, were the faintest bruise hadn't finished fading, down over his heart and extending his arms towards the nearest camera, smiling wide.

His legs felt like jelly when he finally stepped out of the ice, and he almost had to drag himself to the kiss & cry to wait for his scores. He heaved a sigh of relief when he finally plopped down on a chair, and at that moment, his phone started buzzing from inside his jacket pocket. He didn't need to check the caller ID to know.

" _You were amazing out there."_

His heart swelled.

"Did I get the right camera?"

Yuuri laughed. _"No, but I appreciate that you tried. Are your legs okay? You look really tired._ "

Before he could answer, he heard Yuuri's gasp of " _Yes_!", followed by the scores appearing on the screen in front of him, but he smiled and carried on. He was kind of hoping to get a new personal best this season to end on a high note, but it was honestly kind of a miracle that he'd pulled off a clean program after staying away from the ice for so long, so he was satisfied with this result.

"Oh? _Now_ you're worried about my endurance? Well don't. This old man still has a lot of surprises under his sleeve."

The fondness in Yuuri's voice made his heart melt _"I'm looking forward to them."_

The press was starting to get all on his case, asking who he was talking to, if the person on the phone was the one he'd dedicated his program to (how perceptive), blinding him with their camera flashes.

"I gotta go, but I hope I earned myself that once-a-week service?"

Yuuri chuckled. " _We'll see when you get back home_."

Home.

Victor loved how that word sounded in Yuuri's voice.

" _And Victor_ ," Yuuri said in a hurry " _Congratulations!_ "

* * *

" _Expelled from Paradise?! Victor Nikiforov goes from Yuuri Katsuki's coach to rival for next season"_

" _Five-time World Champion Victor Nikiforov skates his last season to 'Life and Love'. Is Russia's most coveted bachelor taken?"_

" _Scandalous! Was Victor showing off a love bite in his first competition of the season?"_

* * *

Yuuri woke up in his hotel in Chicago to an empty bed and the sound of his phone buzzing. The fleeting panic that had settled on his heart evaporated as he saw the name on the screen, and he was quick to slide his thumb over the green answer button. Sparkling ice blue eyes greeted him excitedly, the noise of bedsheets being rustled muffling the sound.

" _Good morning, Yuuri!_ "

A smile stretched on his lips. "It's already two in the morning over there, why are you still awake? The time difference is too big." he laughed, wondering if Victor could actually see him given how close he was to the camera.

He couldn't really see more than Victor's eyes, but he didn't miss how they wrinkled with fondness at the corners " _I wanted to be here when you woke up_." he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

Yuuri's chest ached. "The camera's too close, all I see is your eyes."

" _But that's how it is when you wake up by my side, isn't it?_ "

His heart skipped a beat. He was going to complain about how it was too early and he was too sleepy to survive Victor's corniest mood when he heard a woof and the image turned fuzzy for a moment as Victor laughed.

" _Alright, alright, you can talk to him too, but only if you lie here where he can see us both._ " Victor cooed, pulling the phone farther from his face, to where Yuuri could see him lying on their pillows, silver hair fanned out in disarray, a streak of moonlight that came from the window making his pale skin gleam. Makkachin soon plopped right in front of him and Victor hugged him to his chest, nuzzling the furry top of his head. Without really thinking about it, Yuuri took a screencap and set it as his background picture. " _You know, he had a serious freak out when I came back alone this morning. He wouldn't believe me when I said you'd be back soon until your Mom and Dad confirmed it. What kind of spell did you put on my dog, Yuuri? He doesn't trust me anymore!_ "

Yuuri's heart squeezed with longing. "I'm sorry, Makkachin, Victor didn't do anything stupid this time, okay? I promise I'll see you in a few days _._ " He cooed, and Makkachin barked in agreement. Yuuri looked up up at the camera so Victor would feel he was looking at his eyes. "You on the other hand…" he trailed off.

" _Still ten more really long days to go_." Victor completed. " _I miss you_."

"I miss you too." He really wished he could bury himself in Victor's arms right about now.

" _I wish we'd gotten the same assignments, I hate being apart for so long_."

Yuuri smiled at that. "But isn't it more exciting like this? We'll face off at the Final for sure."

" _Oh, absolutely. I won't go easy on you, you know?_ "

"I'd never expect you to. You'll watch me tomorrow, right?"

" _Wouldn't miss it for anything. Makkachin and I will be cheering for you so loud, you'll hear our voices across the Pacific._ "

Yuuri's belly fluttered warmly "I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

His phone was ringing before he even reached the Kiss & Cry.

" _Victor, are you alright? That fall looked really bad."_

Victor smiled fondly, even if Yuuri couldn't see him. "I've had worse." He replied noncommittally, rubbing his sore hip with his free hand. Definitely didn't hurt half as much as those awful falls, back in St. Petersburg when his quad flip had gotten messed up. "My ego though, Yuuri, is going to need weeks and weeks of praise and love to grow back to health, otherwise I won't be able to compete!" he whined as he let his body go limp on a chair in front of the score screen, his expression contorting melodramatically. By Yuuri's snort, Victor assumed this time he had found the camera that was feeding to Yuuri's livestream, so he made sure to blow a kiss in its direction.

" _Hmmm, I wonder. Sometimes being too healthy isn't such a good idea."_ Yuuri commented, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Victor was about to quip back when the scores appeared on the screen. His face fell. "I might not make it back home alive after all, Yuuri, I've just taken a critical hit." He bemoaned. Yuuri, unsurprisingly, laughed.

" _Oh, Yurio's never gonna' let you live this down for sure._ " He breathed in between chuckles.

"Oh no, he still nags me about that World record, this is just going to make it worse." He wailed in dismay. "But he's in top condition and had an extra dose of motivation because he wanted to impress his Kazakh hero friend _so bad_ , of course he'd get a new personal best and everything. You should've seen him when he gave him those souvenirs it was—"

" _Is that so? Have you stopped trying to impress me then?"_

Victor knew no one would believe him if he said Yuuri was the most vicious person in the entire world, but he absolutely was. He had a way with words that always left Victor scrambling for something to say.

"You know that's always what I strive for. Didn't I surprise you in the slightest?" he pouted.

" _Well, that fall was pretty surprising; I hadn't seen you do that in a while."_

"Yuuri, my ego, have mercy!"

" _Let's see…_ " Yuuri hummed. Makkachin woofed somewhere in the background " _I wanted to tell you face to face, but since that ego of yours seems ready to call an ambulance, I guess I can say it now: I_ _love how you love your program. I'm sure everyone watching could tell. And every time I see you skating it, I feel you love it even more_."

Victor felt warmth bloom on his cheeks, his chest swelling with pride. He smiled, affection welling in his heart. "Of course I love it, how could I not?" Camera flashes and Yurio's distant mocking voice reminded him of where he was and he sighed. "Sorry, it looks like they're waiting for me to start the awards ceremony. I'll catch the first plane after the gala tomorrow." He patted his legs to will them to move. "Don't even try to tell me I don't need to rush back or that I should rest, I'm not staying away from you one minute more than necessary."

He heard Yuuri sigh. " _Okay, but let me know which flight you're boarding so I can pick you up at the airport. And try to get some sleep on the plane. And be nice to Yurio, he's earned this_."

"Will do, will do, honestly, you dote on him too much."

" _What a night we've had here at the Tropheé de France! The astonishing Yuri Plisetsky who just made his senior debut last year has earned his first Grand Prix gold beating five-time champion Victor Nikiforov, who has guaranteed his qualification to the Finals with today's silver. Nikiforov is the second competitor that has earned his pass to the Grand Prix Finals, following Japan's Katsuki Yuuri who got a gold medal in Skate America a few days ago and—"_

* * *

Victor heard Makkachin's woofs before he was even through the door, and his eyes immediately went to search for Yuuri's frame. He saw Yuuri leap from a seat and start running towards the gate. There was a long wall of crystal that kept him from reaching Yuuri one second sooner and Victor _loathed_ it. Seeing Yuuri and not being able to hold him _yet_ made him ache. This god forsaken airport. He practically dashed to the exit gate, nearly running over two or three people, his luggage forgotten halfway when it had become too cumbersome to run with it. As soon as the automatic doors opened, Victor tackled Yuuri to the ground, holding him tight in his arms where he belonged.

" _Finally_." He sighed, the heavy longing that had been weighing down his heart for the past three weeks receding at last. He allowed himself to breathe in Yuuri's scent, his nose buried deep in his neck, and then pulled back to look at Yuuri's eyes. He was half expecting to get a 'it's still over an hour before we're back at the inn', but all he saw was welcoming warmth and a smile so soft Victor might have melted.

"Welcome back."

Makkachin, who had a most amazing sense of timing, interrupted with long wet kisses to Victor's cheek.

"Oh, don't act all sappy on me now, you traitor." He huffed with laughter, sitting up and patting Makkachin's head. "I bet you didn't miss me one bit." He helped Yuuri back on his feet, but didn't let go of his hand afterwards. "I'm sure you were happy you had Yuuri all to yourself, weren't you?"

Yuuri laughed and nudged him in the ribs. "He did miss you, he'd come running from anywhere in the inn when I called you. I'm sure you heard him over the phone many times"

"He was just bragging that he got to share the bed with Yuuri while I didn't, don't think I don't understand what my own dog says."

Makkachin seemed to not care much about the conversation and instead just licked Victor's free hand. "Okay, okay, I missed you too, even if you're a traitor." He finally conceded, scratching Makkachin's floppy ears.

Yuuri giggled and tugged on their laced hands. "Let's go grab your suitcase and get back home."

Victor smiled.

 _I'm already there._

* * *

Victor had always considered himself a crowd-pleaser, but if he was to be honest, he was growing a little bit tired of all these press conferences. How many more times would he have to answer why he'd decided to come back? How many more tabloids asking if he'd had a falling out with Yuuri and if so why was he still living in Hasetsu? How many more teen magazines would hassle him with questions about who was the person he'd dedicated his free skate to and why didn't they appear in any of his social media? (they did, oh Victor had so many photos of Yuuri on Instagram).

"Yuuri, let's go eat something, I know a really good seafood place." He whined, draping an arm around Yuuri's shoulder –still an acceptable amount of PDA that wouldn't fuel too much speculation _yet_. Tonight would be their last chance for a truly romantic evening in Marseille before the competition started in full gear tomorrow.

"Victor, just one more question, please!" a young reporter called over the crowd. She looked nervous and a little frantic. Victor had never seen her before, so he guessed this might be her first time covering such a major event. He imagined she was from another teenage magazine and would probably ask him for the millionth time what his favorite color was, but she had a sparkle in her eye and he figured it wouldn't hurt to give her something to jump-start her career.

"Sure, shoot me a good one." And he added a playful wink for good measure.

The reporter nodded and looked at her notes. "Y-your free program for this season is very different to what you've done before, did you choreograph it yourself?"

Victor cocked his head. For some reason, he hadn't seen that one coming. "No?" He turned to look at Yuuri. "Wait, I hadn't said this before?"

Yuuri shook his head. "I don't think anyone had asked."

"Oh, well then." He turned back to the reporter, beaming. "I didn't! Yuuri choreographed it for me! Isn't it great?" he puffed his chest with pride. "But I did choreograph Yuuri's free, what did you think of that one? I think it's my best work so far."

* * *

It had been a little hard to convince Yuuri about this crazy idea of his. He was aware it was a little bit out there, especially given how little time they had, but he couldn't shake off the excitement of one last season, competing against Yuuri at his best, carving declarations of love for him on the ice where the whole world could see.

" _Victor, this is insane_." He'd said when Victor had sprung the proposition on him, late at night, tangled in each other's arms.

" _It's going to be the best surprise!_ "

Yuuri had looked at him, anxious and insecure.

" _Do you really think we can do this?_ "

Victor had smiled, dozens of ideas already bubbling in his mind, his body thrumming with the anticipation of a new adventure.

" _I think we can do anything we set our minds to._ "

" _But I've never really choreographed anything._ "

Victor had grabbed Yuuri's hands and kissed his knuckles one by one, softly, and felt Yuuri's shoulders relax a little. " _Just give me something you want to see me do. You're the one who skated my gold-winning program to its full potential, I wouldn't trust anyone else with this._ " He breathed in the scent of Yuuri's hands and met his eyes, smiling reassuringly. " _I already have lots of ideas of what I want for you._ "

Yuuri had chuckled, spreading his hands to touch Victor's face with his fingertips " _And how many of those require me to get naked on the ice?_ "

He'd laughed, playful, happy, fulfilled. " _Whoops, busted_."

" _Aren't you going a bit overboard with so many surprises?"_

Victor had then pulled a little away just so he could see all of Yuuri's face, hopefully convey his own determination and how important this was for him. " _Yuuri, it'll be the last season, I don't want anyone to forget it, ever. I want it to go down in the history books as the best last season anyone ever skated_."

Yuuri had raised one eyebrow, curious, his eyes sparkling with interest, that lovely glow of when he was looking for something, expecting something. " _Whose best last season? Yours or mine?_ "

And Victor had known the answer to that question long before Yuuri ever thought of it.

" _Ours_."

* * *

The reporters' frenzy that followed his response seemed to draw even more people around them. Yuuri sighed as if he'd just said something terrible. The entire room went wild.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Why did you choreograph each other's program?"

"If you were going to choreograph Katsuki Yuuri, why did you stop being his coach?"

"Do you really trust that, as mutual competitors, you would give each other a winning program? Don't you both want to win?"

Victor's nostrils flared at the insinuation. The gall of this people. With a congenial smile that didn't reach his eyes, he grabbed the microphone that was closest and looked straight at the first camera he found.

"The free program that Yuuri prepared for me is my favorite out of all the ones I've ever skated. If I fail to win with this program it will be due to my own short-comings alone." He could feel ire rising in his stomach. This wasn't what he wanted at all. He hated the way these media people jumped to the worst possible conclusions. He was getting ready to let his crowd-pleasing mask fall off and give these people a piece of his mind when Yuuri cut him off, lightly shoving him away from the microphones

"Uhm… to be honest it's a complicated feeling because I want to win, but I also want to see the program I choreographed win because I'm very proud of it. I have been a fan of Victor for a very long time so when he asked me to do this I was truly honored. I would be very happy if Victor would win his sixth Grand Prix gold with my choreography." His eyes hardened, and he looked up, a determined smile on his lips. "But I also treasure the program Victor created for me, and I have other reasons to win, so I won't be going easy on you."

Victor's heart skipped a beat, his rage immediately soothed, and his heart swelled with excitement. "I wouldn't ask for any less."

* * *

" _On the ice we have current Grand Prix champion, representing Japan: Katsuki Yuuri!"_

" _He finished up first after the short program, beating his former coach Victor Nikiforov by 2.34 and setting a new personal best. His free skate has been choreographed by Nikiforov himself."_

" _With such a small lead, and Nikiforov's flawless performance a few minutes ago, Katsuki can't afford any miss if he wants to defend his title. His first planned jump is a quad toe-triple toe combination and he nails it marvelously! If he can carry on like this he'll probably take the gold with ease."_

Yuuri couldn't hear a thing. He couldn't hear if the audience was cheering. Couldn't hear what the announcers were saying. Couldn't even hear if Victor was saying something –in fact, he could hardly tell where Victor was at all. All he could hear was the violin and the pounding of his heart. He could do this. Now of all times he couldn't afford to lose, not even to Victor. Nerves started coiling in his gut at that thought, and his mind immediately went back to that jewelry shop in Barcelona, that velvet box he'd buried inside a drawer for as many months as he'd been paying installments and Victor's fake smile when he'd come down from the podium at last year's Final.

Letting meaningless things get into his head had but one inevitable outcome.

" _His first jump for the second half will be a quad Flip. Since last year he's been banking on his high endurance to perform more difficult jumps in the second half to earn extra points, and so far it's paid off, let's see if… oh, he fell! That looked like it got enough rotations in, but the deduction might just be enough to make him lose the gold!"_

* * *

Yuuri didn't even want to look at Victor when he stepped off the ice, but he let his long arms wrap around him and comfort him, burying his nose in the crook of Victor's neck, where the marks he'd left had long disappeared. He felt tears burning at the back of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Victor, I screwed it up… the program you made for me. I'm so sorry." He sobbed, angry.

Victor stroked his back and nuzzled his temple softly. "No, my love, don't be. You were beautiful out there, I'm so proud of you. It was a small miss, happens to all of us. You're not hurt, are you?"

Yuuri shook his head. "Just my ego." He replied even if that wasn't all of it. His mind went back to the velvet box and how he'd have to wait even longer now. It was frustrating.

"I have a lot of experience nursing egos, we'll get yours back in shape in no time." Victor mumbled gently. "Come on, let's go wait for your scores."

* * *

" _These are your medalists for this year's ISO Grand Prix Final! In first place, gold medal, representing Russia: Victor Nikiforov!"_

Victor glided on the ice, arms spread wide, taking in the exhilaration of the crowd. It had been a long time since he'd felt this excited about winning. In fact, this was probably the most pride and joy he'd felt after any victory, and he knew it was because of how much he loved his program. He made two laps around the rink, basking in the collective euphoria before climbing up to the top of the podium, still smiling and waving, before his eyes went to the rink entrance.

" _In second place, silver medal, representing Japan: Yuuri Katsuki!"_

His heart swelled with even more pride –if that was even possible- as the crowd went wild when Yuuri stepped on the ice. They really did love him. They saw what Victor saw in him, all that talent and passion and music. Victor could still see lingering redness at the corners of his beautiful brown eyes. He hated that Yuuri still managed to feel disappointed in himself after such a beautiful performance and he hated that he didn't know the right words to make him feel better. He had a feeling this wasn't just about not winning, that there was something else causing Yuuri's frustration, but he couldn't quite figure it out yet.

He brushed the thought aside when Yuuri glided to the podium. They exchanged a noncommittal hug (and Yuuri whispered 'Congratulations' in his ear, and made him shiver), and for a fleeting moment, as he helped Yuuri climb on to the second step, he felt the urge to kiss him.

 _Not yet._

 _What makes a great surprise is to break it at just the right moment._

" _In third place, bronze medal, representing Switzerland: Christophe Giaccometti!"_

He glanced sideways at Yuuri, smiling as he waved at the audience, and he wished above all things, that Yuuri could feel as proud of himself as Victor was. He felt incredibly giddy, just sharing the podium with Yuuri, felt himself jittering with excitement. He almost got caught off guard when the officials came to give them their medals and flowers. He hooked one arm around Yuuri's and helped him and Chris climb to the top of the podium, showing their medals at the cameras. ("You could've let me take that center spot at least this last time." Chris complained "I respect you too much for that, my friend." Victor laughed.)

"Yuuri, are you still upset?" he whispered, leaning slightly into him. "It was only a 0.29 difference; you'll get back at me in Pyeongchang."

Yuuri leaned back against him, ever so slightly "Of course I'm still upset. I wanted…" his eyes flickered away, searching, and there was definitely something Yuuri was keeping from him, but Victor trusted he'd tell him when he felt the time was right. Then Yuuri's brows furrowed a little and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Don't you dare lose on purpose next time."

Victor beamed. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They stepped off the podium for a last lap around the rink and more photos. Yuuri seemed to be struggling to figure out what to do with his flowers while also showing his medal to the cameras and waving to the people. It was pretty cute.

"I'll say that I'm also happy." Yuuri said in between photos, barely even looking at him, his cheeks flushed light pink. "The program I created for you… it was just like I envisioned it. I loved watching you skate to it in person."

"And hearing _that_ makes _me_ happier than these ugly plastic medals ever could." He grinned, holding the item for emphasis. Was this really going to be his last Grand Prix gold? Preposterous. "I mean, look at this! It's like they're not even trying. Back in _my_ time, they looked like they were worth the effort it took to win." To his surprise, Yuuri started giggling, but it soon turned into full-body laughter until Yuuri was doubling over himself and the cameramen were starting to ask what on Earth they were talking about. "Yuuri, stop laughing, this is serious! What will become of this spor— _Yuuri_!"

* * *

" _And to close this gala exhibition, the men's single gold medalist Victor Nikiforov!"_

" _I must say his exhibition program this season has been… not as spectacular as what we've come to expect from him. His is still one of the finest artistic expressions this sport has ever seen, but many have expressed confusion at the relative simplicity of his EX program this year, especially considering how absolutely incredible he has been throughout the season. Let's see if he has tweaked the program after the great victory he got yesterday."_

" _Here he is and he's chosen a –hold on, hold on ladies and gentlemen, Japan's Katsuki Yuuri is joining him on the ice, what is happening here?! Had anyone heard anything about this? It… it doesn't appear as if anyone's planning to stop them and yes, yes it looks like they have prepared some sort of collaboration for us tonight!"_

* * *

Yuri gaped. "O-o-oi are they seriously gonna do that crap here?" He could hear Yakov swearing a few steps away.

Otabek raised an eyebrow at him "Do you know what they're planning?"

"I… I think so… maybe… Are they even allowed to do that?"

Otabek shrugged. "I don't recall any specific rules that forbid it."

"Their outfits kind of match, don't they?" Mila chimed in, touching her own cheek with her finger, pensively. "Maybe they'd been planning it all along and that's why both their EX have been kind of boring until now?"

Mila's explanation made too much sense and Yuri wanted to hurl.

* * *

Victor's hand was trembling in Yuuri's as they greeted the audience. A year ago, Yuuri would have never imagined that Victor's hands ever trembled. Now he'd seen and felt them do it many times: when Victor had performed that piece for him in the quiet of Ice Castle, when his mother had forgiven him, when they'd had to part ways, even if they knew it would be temporary, when they kissed, when they made love, when they felt each other's heartbeat, when it was too much. For some reason, knowing that Victor shared his nervousness, made it feel terribly insignificant.

Yuuri squeezed Victor's fingers with his. "Let's surprise them." He muttered softly, smiling at him in reassurance. Victor squeezed back and grinned before letting go and pulling away so they could reach their starting positions on opposite sides of the ice. The crowd was quiet with anticipation, not a single sound could be heard. Yuuri's heart was hammering in his chest, against the small, cool piece of metal he'd stubbornly decided to hide inside his costume. And in came the piano and the violin.

" _Yuuri, are you sure you want this? We don't have to do it for an audience, it can be just for ourselves._ "

" _No, I… I want… I want the whole world to see… to_ feel _this._ " He'd placed his palm above Victor's heart, and Victor reciprocated before he could take another breath. " _And I want_ us _to feel it out there, on that stage, where it all started_."

He was all too aware of the fact that the choreography was incredibly simple and straightforward. Just two lost souls finding one another. Compared to Victor's exquisitely crafted stories that had layer after layer of symbolism and had people discussing and speculating for months on end, this was, well, rather basic. But as he glided backwards after his quad Salchow, arms spread wide, and let his body go limp to be caught in Victor's embrace, he decided he was okay with that. He wanted everyone to know, wanted to leave no door open for questions or doubts.

He turned around in Victor's arms and cupped his face in his hands.

His voice was tightly trapped inside his throat, but he mouthed the words nonetheless.

" _I love you."_

His arm circled around Victor's waist and he dipped him down. His stomach tightened with the effort, but his hand was steady on the small of Victor's back, holding him safe. Victor's leg was stretched long and beautiful, and his hand rose to touch Yuuri's cheek just before his lips mouthed back at him.

" _I love you too."_

The blush that spread over Yuuri's cheeks was beautiful, and it was all Victor could do to stop himself from pulling him down and kissing him. But Yuuri's chest pressing against his dug the piece of metal in his breast pocket onto his skin, and that grounded him. They still had half of the story to tell.

Letting go of Yuuri and pulling away from him was almost as heartbreaking as it had been that night in Helsinki, almost a year ago. He almost couldn't do it, almost fell for real on the broken triple axel. His heart thrummed with yearning, with the need to return into the arms where he belonged. His breathing faltered, but in the middle of a spin, he caught sight of Yuuri, how the sparkles of the costume contoured his body, how the dimmed lights marked the angles of his face, how beautiful he was in black and silver and blue, how he too, quivered as if he couldn't stand being apart for one more second, how he reached out to him at the end of his spin, hands beckoning Victor back home. They glided towards each other, meeting once more in the middle, hands over hearts. Yuuri's heart was racing with exhaustion and exhilaration. Victor knew his was too.

He didn't mind that the story seemed simple or obvious. Perhaps, he even liked it all the more for it. That it was obvious, that anyone who saw could tell what they were, how they felt. It made it even clearer that this was how things were meant to be from the start; that the obstacles they'd faced and the mistakes they'd made had only been minor set-backs because at the end of it all, they were always meant to find each other and never let go again.

Yuuri led them into a slow waltz around the edge of the ice and Victor's heart jumped when Yuuri made him spin in his hold.

" _Are you sure you want me to lead? You're taller._ "

" _Oh Yuuri, the best dance I've ever had was the time I let you sweep the floor with me in Sochi_." Yuuri had spluttered, angrily grumbling about how 'no one would ever leave him alone about Sochi'. " _Letting you lead back then was the best decision of my life; I wouldn't want it any other way now._ "

Their last turn took them back to the center of the rink, where Victor grabbed Yuuri's waist and lifted him off the ice, Yuuri's leg stretched in a half-split, both of their bodyweights spinning and held steady just with Victor's right foot (' _Victor, you're not that much bigger than me, I don't think we should do a lift_ ' ' _Come on, Yuuri, just once, lifts are the best thing about pairs, it'll be the best finale_ '). When they stopped spinning, Victor's left toe-pick touched the ice to keep them balanced, his hold on Yuuri's waist tightening, his free hand once again finding Yuuri's racing heartbeat. And Yuuri touched Victor's heart too, while his other hand trickled over his neck until he had two fingers pressed softly to Victor's chin.

The music ended. Their faces were barely an inch apart, their heavy exhausted breaths mingled in the space between them. The crowd exploded in roaring cheers and ovations, flowers and poodle plushies raining from the stands to the ice.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki!"_

Still entranced in each other's eyes, they smiled.

* * *

"Oh my god, it's even more disgusting than I remember." Yuri whined in dismay.

Otabek glanced at him sideways. "I think it was beautiful."

Yuri glared back at him. "You can say that because you don't see them being gross all the time. Yuck."

Otabek smiled faintly and didn't say anything about the furious blush on Yuri's face or the not-yet-dry tear tracks on his cheeks.

* * *

After Victor finally put him down, they bowed to the euphoric audience, hands tightly laced together and raised above their heads. He could feel the endorphins flooding his bloodstream, every second stretching into eternity. It had been perfect beyond what Yuuri could have imagined, and his heart still seemed ready to burst out of his chest, overflowed with happiness and love. He wished he could freeze time in this precise moment, that this feeling of overwhelming joy would never end. The metal halo tingled against his flesh. Maybe he'd do it after all, throw away any meaningless promise he'd made to himself. He turned to look at Victor, and he'd never seen him smile so radiantly, nor had he ever loved him more than in this instant. Now was perfect. He couldn't have asked for a better time.

Just as he finished wrapping his mind around that determination, Victor tugged his own hand free and turned to face him.

Then he went down on one knee.

The crowd went quiet in an instant.

Yuuri swallowed his own heart.

Victor's sparkling eyes never left his, even as he reached inside his breast pocket and pulled something out of it. Small. Round. Golden.

"Yuuri, would you prepare miso soup for me every day from now on?"

"Huh?"

Victor's cheeks were pink. "I'd offer to do it myself but you know I'm terrible as can be in the kitchen." His gaze flickered away for a moment, as if suddenly self-conscious "Ah, but I'm willing to learn of course, it's not like I plan on dropping all the housework on you or anything, we'd distribute it equally, and you wouldn't have to cook every day, we could go out for dinner or order take out, obviously I—"

Yuuri's brain wasn't catching up to whatever was happening anymore.

"Victor, _what_?"

Victor furrowed his brows in confusion. "Did the internet lie to me again? I read everywhere that this was the customary way to propose marriage in Japan."

Finally remembering how to breathe, laughter bubbled from Yuuri's lips. "You're unbelievable" the euphoria from one moment ago made his laughter even louder "I mean, it's true, but that's so old-fashioned, no one says that these d—" And then his brain _finally_ caught up "wait, did you just…?"

Victor smiled, soft, knowing. "I did."

"Oh my god."

Yuuri covered his mouth with his hand, tears welling up in his eyes. Victor's eyes widened at the sight and he shot back up to his feet, panic spreading over his features.

"Yuuri? Yuuri, love, what's wrong? Is it too soon? I know it's been… but I… You can say no if you want to, it's fine, we can take our time if you think we're not ready. We don't even _have_ to get married at all, it's really okay, oh god, please don't cry Yu—"

Yuuri shut him with a finger to his lips. He was still crying copiously and his cheeks were a brilliant red.

"V-Victor just… just shut up for one second, oh my god." Oh this was so not how Yuuri had wanted this to go at all, he was getting too overwhelmed with emotions and Victor was too much and Yuuri loved him too much, _everything was too much_ and now he was ruining this, and Victor was definitely going to get the wrong idea. "Victor, I… _I_ was actually" he hiccupped, aware that he probably looked like madman, trying to wiggle his hand inside the collar of his skin-tight attire.

Victor's heart jumped to the base of his throat as he saw Yuuri's hand emerge from underneath the neckline of his costume…

"I was going to propose… to you… today…"

…holding a plain gold ring.

Victor suddenly realized he had no air left in his lungs.

"But I… I promised to myself that I'd only do it if I won the gold and then got nervous about it and fell during the free and then… then I decided I was actually going to do it right now because it felt like the perfect moment after all and I was just psyching myself up to do it but… oh god." He hid his face behind his palms. "I'm sorry, Victor, I should've just said 'yes', I completely ruined your already terrible proposal, I'm so—."

"Yuuri!"

This time it was Victor's turn to stop the panicked babbling by grabbing Yuuri's wrists and prying his hands away from his face, blue eyes following the glint of gold held in Yuuri's fingers, his breathing thin. Yuuri's teary brown eyes looked up at him, quivering and sparkling and the sight squeezed Victor's racing heart.

"Yuuri, propose to me." The words tasted like a prayer.

"Eh?"

"You can't say you were going to propose to me and then not do it. I'll be haunted for the rest of my life wondering what you would've said. Propose to me."

Yuuri sucked in a sharp inhale and stared at him in silence and time came to a complete halt. He was keenly aware of every inhale and exhale that came from Yuuri's nose, of the loud booming of his heart in his eardrums, of Yuuri's pulse point on the wrist he was holding. And because Victor knew Yuuri too well, he saw the exact moment those brown eyes shifted with determination.

"Victor, I…" he took a deep breath and pulled his hands free of Victor's grasp to lace their fingers together "remember what we promised after you came back?"

Victor smiled fondly, dragging the pads of his thumb over the side of Yuuri's hands. "I've made you many promises since then, love." He chuckled. "None that I don't intend to keep."

"We promised to be happy together."

"I do seem to recall that."

Yuuri smiled too, leaning forward until their foreheads touched.

"So let's be. For the rest of our lives." He pulled away again and raised the golden ring up to where Victor could see it. "Marry me."

Tears started flowing down Victor's cheeks. "Yes." He breathed, as if he had lived all of his life just waiting to say that one word. "Of course it's a yes." His heart felt ready to burst with joy. "Really, Yuuri must you always one-up me with the surprises?"

Yuuri tilted his head slightly, his eyes following the movements of Victor's hands sliding the ring down his finger. "I thought you liked a challenge."

"You know me too well."

He watched intently as Yuuri grabbed his hands, blue eyes fixed on how the gold sparkled on Yuuri's fair skin, how good it looked on him. Yuuri's hands trembled as they held his, a little jolt running up his spine as he wiggled the ring past Victor's knuckle. It fit him to perfection. It was still warm, probably from being tucked somewhere inside Yuuri's costume all night. Victor found that he loved the feeling of it. He stared at his own hand, at their intertwined hands wearing matching rings, enraptured by the thought of his ring on Yuuri's finger, of Yuuri's ring on his, of Yuuri asking for his hand in marriage, of the rest of his life being promised to Yuuri, of how even for something like this, they could be so wonderfully in synch.

And when he finally got out of his trance, Yuuri's nose was almost touching his and their lips met in what seemed like an afterthought, arms wrapping tight around each other.

The crowd roared.

They broke the kiss with a yelp, having forgotten where they were standing or how many people were watching. They exchanged sheepish smiles, cheeks tinted pink –a little bit from shame, a little bit from the cold- and Victor turned to the audience, raising their hands above their heads. He cupped his mouth with his free hand and yelled an exhilarated "He said yes!" his blue eyes shining like actual stars, and Yuuri wasn't sure if the crowd had actually heard that, but it seemed like they did because the cheers only turned louder.

As they glided towards the rink exit, Victor suddenly yelped, his shoulders stiff.

"Wait, what was that about my proposal being terrible?"

Yuuri laughed.

* * *

Yuuri was tackled to the ground the moment they stepped off the ice, and Victor almost toppled over with him by way of their interlaced hands, but the force of the tackle was such that it managed to pull them apart. Victor frowned at the loss until he found Phichit Chulanont –who swore he hadn't shared even half of his repertoire of shameful Detroit stories yet- squealing on top of Yuuri, rubbing their cheeks together and gushing on "Can you believe you had posters of him in our room and now you're getting _married_?!" Victor sighed and smiled. He could suffer lending his fiancé ( _Yuuri was his fiancé_ ) over to his best friend for a bit, he figured.

A heavy arm was draped over his shoulders. "You really outdid yourself with that, old friend. Even knowing how much you're into the theatrics, I didn't see it coming." Chris's voice was deep and low, very close to his ear.

"You know I live for the surprises. What better way to make my last season unforgettable?" And yet, he thought fondly, _Yuuri's always managing to surprise me even more_.

Chris huffed a laugh. "I must say I never thought I'd see _you_ settle down. What do you say we give it one last go, for old time's sake? Before you become a boring married man."

Victor laughed too. " _You're_ a boring married man already, _and_ your husband's watching over there."

"Oh, I'm sure he'd _love_ to watch."

"Naughty." He tapped on Chris's hand over his shoulder to step away from the embrace and used Chris's bicep as leverage to lean down and put on his skate guards. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I have to decline. I'm a taken man now." He beamed showing the ring on his finger the moment he got back on his feet, the sight of it alone making his stomach flutter.

Chris cocked his hip to the side and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Dear me, you're going to be the annoying one that flaunts their ring at any given opportunity."

Victor feigned offense, lightly pressing his hand over his chest "I have _no idea_ of what you're talking about, but now that you mention rings…" he grinned, spun on one feet dramatically and extended his hand so it was at Chris's eye-level. " _Did you see what Yuuri gave me?_ " he sang in delight, punctuating every word, and yes, _definitely_ flaunted the golden band that he'd never get tired of seeing.

Chris rolled his eyes and swatted his hand away. "Okay, okay, congratulations. I'm glad you managed to work it out." He draped an arm around Victor's shoulders again and nudged him to look at Yuuri, who was now the center of attention of at least half a dozen people hugging him and congratulating him. Coach Celestino was actually crying and everything. "He's good for you."

"He really is." Victor nodded his agreement, his chest warming up at the sight of Yuuri's jovial smile. "He's much better for me than I am for him."

 _And yet I'm wearing his ring._

"Even if that might be true, it doesn't sound right when it's you saying it. Have some trust in his decisions."

Victor turned to look at his friend, mouth slightly agape, then back to the ring on his finger, and his heart skipped a beat.

"He _did_ choose me…" he mused and the realization hit him anew and the whole world around him suddenly looked so much more bright and colorful because of it. He wondered how many more times would the universe come to a halt just by the thought of being bound to Yuuri for life.

"Exactly what I'm saying." Chris leaned a littler heavier against him. "And anyway, have you decided on a best man? Because I can throw you the best bachelor's party to match the best retirement season, you know? I can work the pole to spike things up."

Victor snorted. "As much as I appreciate your talents, I'm afraid I'm getting a bit too old for such wild entertainment."

"Oh? Are you sure about that? I could even get you that cute dancer from Sochi. You seemed to take a fancy to him, if I remember correctly. He wasn't as good as me, but he certainly had some great moves. Maybe I could even teach you a few tricks so you could get on the pole with him, I bet you'd enjoy that."

That was the last straw for Victor. His cheeks burned and he doubled over laughing, pulling Chris down with him. "Alright, alright, you win, you're hired." He wheezed, clutching at his stomach. "But please never mention that to Yuuri."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll just give him a little champagne and he'll forget the whole thing."

"Chris, _no_!"

* * *

Victor's arms wrapped around Yuuri's waist from the back the moment the door to their hotel room clicked close. "So? Am I getting my reward for winning now? We don't have any more competitions in two weeks."

Yuuri sighed, melting into the embrace, his stomach still tingling from the onslaught of emotions of the night. "Have something in mind?"

"Hmmm." Victor's nose tickled his neck. "Something nicer than the plastic medal?"

Yuuri smirked. "I'd say you're setting the bar too low." He placed his right hand on top of Victor's, just so he could see both of their rings. "But I just promised the rest of my life to you, so I'm not sure what else is there if that didn't satisfy you."

Victor stiffened behind him, his teeth grazing tender skin. "Oh, Yuuri, I could hardly ever demand anything else from you. I'm not even sure I'm deserving of such gift." He peppered wet kisses down Yuuri's neck, stopping to lave at the juncture of his shoulder, savoring the gasp it earned him. "But that doesn't mean I won't gratefully take _anything_ you wish to give me." His voice was thick with promise.

Heat started coiling at the pit of Yuuri's stomach, and before he could even think about it he was grinding his hips back, dragging against the front of Victor's pants. Victor swallowed a groan.

"Eager, are we?" long fingers tugged the elastic waistline of his pants slightly down, just enough to let his hipbones peek out so they could be traced in tease.

"You're one to talk." Yuuri huffed, rolling his hips once more. Victor moaned at the friction. "We have to take the chances we have, right? We won't be able to… _do_ anything when we're home."

That seemed to give Victor pause, and he finally unlatched his mouth from Yuuri's neck, craning his neck so their eyes met. "What do you mea—" Yuuri shot him a pointed _look_. One that was most definitely a genetic inheritance. " _Oh_." Whatever strength was keeping his body upright was sapped out in that instant, and he sagged against Yuuri's back, any obscene thought erased by mortification.

Yuuri sighed after a moment of quiet, his arm twisted backwards so his hand could card through Victor's soft hair, face buried in the crook of his neck. "We're going to have to move out, aren't we?"

Victor jolted slightly. "Your mom won't be happy about that."

"I think I speak for both of us when I say it's better to deal with that unhappiness than with… the other thing."

From the corner of his eye, he could see the crimson tint creeping up Victor's ear, and the laugh he breathed against his shoulder was above all things, nervous. "You're so right about that, love, so right."

* * *

There were actual people waiting for them at the airport. Minako-sensei almost ran them over when she jumped to hug them. The triplets were taking photos nonstop and squealing 'when's the wedding' 'let us see the rings!', and Yuko grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders and gushed about 'can you believe you used to have all those posters?" (even though she'd screeched the exact same thing over the phone some 20 hours ago, and Yuuri briefly considered introducing her to Phichit) before they were even allowed to say 'hello'.

They arrived at the inn to a raucous party to which apparently everyone in Hasetsu had been invited. Food and alcohol were flowing freely and his already inebriated father was stumbling around the tables singing "all on the house, my son's getting married!" His mother actually started crying when she spotted them and she hugged Victor so tight Yuuri had to pry her away when his face started turning a little bit blue. Even Mari hugged them both, although not as effusively.

Victor then got swept into the party rather quickly humoring every guest that offered him a cup of sake, which predictably caused him to mysteriously lose half of his clothes over the span of one hour before he draped himself over Yuuri's back and whined at him for not drinking too. Eventually he started mumbling something unintelligible of which the only words he could make out were "Yuuri's Eros" and "pole" and he rolled his eyes as he dragged Victor back into their room.

"Just so you know, if all you want is to watch me climb up a pole, you don't really have to get me drunk. I'd do it sober if you asked."

Victor perked up, his eyes wide and glittery with excitement. Yuuri almost regretted saying that, but he figured Victor was so drunk he'd forget about the offer in the morning.

(Victor, in fact, did not)

* * *

As expected, his mother was not in the slightest pleased to hear of their decision to move out. The way her face fell when Yuuri cut her off in the midst of an excited "we'll have to tear some walls down to make Yuuri's bedroom bigger" almost turned Victor to her side.

"I'm sorry, Mama, we'll come for dinner every day, I promise."

Yuuri had no idea of when exactly Victor had started calling his own mother like that, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"If it's about privacy we can soundproof the walls." She bargained, probably unaware of how she was making it all worse, and Yuuri cringed a little.

"It's not like we're moving right away, we won't have time to look into places until the season ends. And we're not going far or anything, Mom, we want to stay in Hasetsu. Victor's addicted to the onsen anyway."

"I am, I totally am!" Victor peeped, eyes shining like an excited child. That Victor had come to love his small and unremarkable hometown so much, warmed Yuuri's heart.

His mom puffed her cheeks. "If you're staying in Hasetsu why even move out? We could close off the second floor for you and it would be like having your own apartment without having to go anywhere."

"We're going to need more than the second floor when we start building a family, Mom."

The whole room went silent. His father gasped. Someone dropped something made of ceramics and it shattered on the wooden board. It took Yuuri a moment to realize what exactly he'd just said. His mother's eyes widened and a bright smile grew on her face as she pulled him into a crushing embrace. "Oh, Yuuri, I hadn't even thought… Are you two already-?"

"N-n-no!" Yuuri flailed, horrified. "We're not even married yet, it's-it's too soon to…" Oh god, he'd gone and done it again, gotten too far ahead of himself. Bought a ring before they even dated, promised grandchildren to his mother before they even married. He looked up at Victor in a bit of a panic, wondering if his tendency to rush into everything wouldn't be that last straw that would scare him away.

Victor's eyes, however, were big and sparkling with wonder. His cheeks glowed soft pink. Yuuri hadn't been exactly looking for an answer, but the softness of Victor's smile gave one to him anyway. "It's too soon to tell but we're… it's up for consideration. When the time is right."

* * *

"Yuuri, I wanna' skip Nationals."

Yuuri didn't look away from his game, only shifting his arm to a more comfortable position when Victor laid his head on his chest.

"You won't make the Olympic and Worlds teams if you skip." Was his nonchalant reply. Something he'd noticed since Victor came back was that two people sleeping in a small bedroom made the average temperature increase, which in turn made the room itself more cozy, and he'd find himself feeling drowsy the minute he slipped into bed, regardless of whatever intentions of clearing a new level or finishing a chapter in a book he may have had.

The lilt in Victor's voice indicated he was affected by the drowsiness too. "My federation loves me, they'd put me in the team even if I'd chosen to participate overnight."

"That would be unfair to Yurio and everyone else that has been working hard to dethrone you. I won't want to compete against you if you earn your spot through favoritism." The screen on his handheld console showed a 'Game Over' sign, so he exhaled in resignation and put it back on the nightstand, opting instead to let his now free hand to roam over Victor's soft hair.

"But Yuuri! I don't want to spend my birthday away from you!"

Yuuri sighed, leaning down into the pillows, the smell of Victor's shampoo filling his nostrils. "Me neither."

Victor sighed too, his fingers tracing a choreography over Yuuri's shirt, the choreography of his free program to be precise. "I hate that our Nationals overlap, I won't even be able to watch you live. Look what you've done to me, love, I never thought I'd feel upset about skating on my birthday."

Yuuri smiled in spite of himself, his heart stuttering. "I could come down with a sudden cold and skip the Nationals here, my spot is already guaranteed by the JSF regulations anyway."

"You know I'd never ask that of you. The younger kids idolize you, they'll be really motivated to see you there. And you have to show your pride as Japan's ace." Victor's breathe was turning slower, like he was struggling to stay awake. Yuuri had come to realize that he liked holding Victor like this, feeling his warm breathe against his chest, carding his fingers through soft silver locks.

"Well there you have it. We survived three weeks during the Grand Prix Series, we can make a few days." Victor's hand touched his cheek and nudged him to look down and meet his eyes before he leaned up to kiss him slowly, earning himself a gasp. "Besides" Yuuri managed, still slightly winded, "we'll have many more birthdays to celebrate together from now on."

* * *

"Should we wait until the season is over for the wedding? It'd be nice if the sakuras were in bloom for the ceremony."

Yuuri hummed, absentmindedly browsing through the flower catalogues Minako had bought for them. "Actually I'd been thinking… Milan will be our last time standing on the ice to compete so… I… I want us to be married when we do it. I want to be your husband for my last skate."

Victor blinked rapidly, his eyes sparkling with excitement and his whole face flushed beet red before launching himself at Yuuri, throwing his arms around his neck from behind. "Oh, Yuuri, I love that! Milan can be our honeymoon!"

* * *

"Have you thought about what you want to do after all this?"

The question came a little out of nowhere. Victor finished lacing his skates, and looked up at Yuuri, blinking in confusion. "To be happy with you. Hadn't we decided on that already?"

Yuuri blushed sweet pink "It's unfair to use that against me, you know?"

Without thinking much of it, Victor reached out to stroke Yuuri's cheek softly. "Well, we can always do ice shows. I've loved working on this season with you, and I'm sure we can come up with new things together." He couldn't remember feeling as thrilled about skating for an audience as he'd been with the programs he and Yuuri had created. "But it's not like we can do that all the time and I've also been thinking… when I was training you and Yurio for Onsen on Ice I realized I didn't really dislike it? I became your coach because you asked me to, but when I was doing it I thought it was really nice, exciting even, to see someone talented and help them find their true potential." He'd never given much thought to life post-retirement before, but on the rare occasion he had, the last thing he'd imagined was turning to coaching. The idea had never crossed his mind before Yuuri had slurred it at him in his drunken stupor in Sochi. Yet one more thing Yuuri had given him. "Or I could go into modeling, it'll catch on like wildfire."

Yuuri snorted "Victor, you won't be able to model in Japan, none of our clothes fit you."

"So you're saying I have to choose between a potentially successful career as an international supermodel or having your family's onsen at walking distance." He tapped his chin, in fake consideration "Hmmm… coaching it is!"

Yuuri cocked an eyebrow, curious "Do you think you can find good students all the way out here? Wouldn't you have better chances in Russia or the US?"

"I found _you_ here." He said, matter-of-factly "Yuuri, what's with this negativity? You're a local hero, I'm sure half of the kids in the area would die to be your students. We can make Hasetsu the new Meca of figure skating! It'll be good for your parents' business too!"

"Wait, me? I'm getting into this coaching thing too?" Perhaps he should be more concerned about Victor's conviction on their ability to revitalize the town's economy, but for some reason he wasn't. Maybe it was just Victor's way of making everything sound easy and achievable.

"If you want to. I'm sure you could do it. You choreographed the best program of my career. And don't think I haven't seen you watching some of the kids taking lessons at Ice Castle, I know you can see the potential. The music you have in you, Yuuri, that's not something I can teach. We have created amazing things together, and I'd love to continue doing that."

Yuuri's eyes widened, his blush darkened, and he tilted his head to lean into Victor's hand, a smile curling his lips. "You know, that… doesn't sound bad at all."

* * *

It wasn't clear how the fight started, but it came to a frozen halt when Victor accused "You said my proposal was terrible!" to which Yuuri absurdly replied "I've had the ring since Barcelona!"

Yuuri wished he could catch the words in the air and swallow them back before they could reach Victor's ears, but it was too late. Whatever Victor had been mad about before (what _were_ they mad about anyway?) he seemed to forget it, and the next time he spoke his voice was so quiet it sounded like it was made of glass.

"What… what do you mean?"

Yuuri had never intended to tell him. It was a stupid gripe, a petty lingering grudge that he'd been trying to bury in the deepest corner of his mind for months. He should have finished vanquishing it the moment he'd finally slid that ring on Victor's finger. But obviously he wasn't and he hated himself for that.

"It's not important."

"It sounds like it hurts you, it's got to be important."

"It really isn't."

"Yuuri, please."

Victor reached to touch Yuuri's shoulder, but he swatted his hand away and recoiled. He hated that Victor could so easily brush off whatever it was that he'd been angry about to show concern towards him. It made him feel even worse for holding on to this bitter resentment. Anxiety tightened around his heart, a voice in his head whispering ' _this will be the last straw, when he hears how petty you are he's going to leave you, for good this time'_. His vision turned blurry and the ground under his feet didn't feel steady anymore. He tried to shut that voice down, but no matter how many times he tried to tell himself ' _Victor loves me, Victor chose me, Victor wants to marry me_ ", the other voice would just get louder and louder and—

"Yuuri!" Victor's hands were firm on his shoulders, and the ground wasn't shifting under him anymore. "I'm right here. And I'm _staying_ right here."

Through the cloud of voices, Yuuri allowed himself to feel awed because in such a short span of time, Victor seemed to have learned exactly what words he needed to hear, almost as if that misguided threat of abandonment in that parking lot in China had been but a nightmare.

(but it hadn't been a nightmare, just a bump on the road, and if they hadn't stumbled back then, they wouldn't be standing here right now, he realized).

He took a deep breathe.

"I bought the ring in Barcelona last year. You were out drinking with Chris and I went for a walk and just… somehow ended in a jewelry shop." Absentmindedly, his hand found Victor's and pulled it away from his shoulder to look at it, at the shine of gold over ivory skin. "I told myself it was just a thank you gift, that it didn't mean anything special." He rubbed the cold metal with his thumb. Except it wasn't cold because Victor wore it on his warm hand at all times. "How dumb. I knew from the start it was an engagement ring, but I didn't want to accept… And then I saw it on the receipt and it dawned on me that I'd just bought you an _engagement ring_. I couldn't really trick myself any longer after that and it didn't feel right to give it to you with such selfish intentions." He couldn't bring himself to look up at Victor's eyes, so he kept his gaze fixed on the ring, on the repetitive movement of his thumb going back and forth over it and the little tremors of Victor's hand. "But then the night before the free you told me you would stay by my side no matter what happened and I thought…" he shook his head. "No, maybe I _realized_ about your feelings. And I decided I was going to give it to you after I won. N-not like an actual proposal just… like a promise." His eyes felt hot with tears. "After the awards ceremony you looked… your smile wasn't… yours, and I chickened out."

He heard Victor's sharp intake of breath and it made him flinch. "Then we came back home and I was trying to prepare myself to do it, waiting for an opportunity and then… then you…" he bit on his lip, the tears finally overflowing, and he was aware his grip on Victor's hand was too tight. "You told me you were going back to Russia, _even though you'd promised to stay by my side_ , and I was so-" A part of him wanted to know what kind of expression Victor was wearing now, but another one was too afraid to look. "I'm sorry. I know it's stupid and petty. I gave you the ring and you accepted it and that's really all that should matter to me now, I—"

"I'm so sorry, Yuuri."

 _Eh?_

He finally looked up at Victor, the broken sound of his voice pulling him out of his self-deprecating tirade. Victor's face was stricken with sorrow, tears streaming from his icy blue eyes. His hands were shivering in Yuuri's.

"I had no idea." He croaked. "Yuuri, I'm so sorry, I put you through—"

 _What?_

"No! No, this isn't… this isn't about you!" he dropped Victor's hands to ball his into fists "I'm the one who's wrong, I'm the one who shouldn't still be so angry and vengeful over something that happened so long ago. I even… I finally gave you that ring but I'm still acting like a spiteful kid about it."

Victor released a shaky breath and wiped the tears off his face. "Yuuri, can I hold your hands?" he asked, as if they hadn't been doing just that until seconds ago, as if there was any chance he would get a 'no'.

Yuuri looked up in confusion, and it only grew when he saw the small, shaky smile on Victor's lips. Wasn't he mad? Why wasn't he mad? Why was he still mad about the 'your proposal was terrible' thing, a whole month after the fact, but seemed entirely unaffected by the knowledge that Yuuri had been holding a stupid grudge against him for a whole year?

"Yuuri, I've known what I was getting into since day one. I know that you're petty and insecure and a really sore loser, just like you know how I'm fickle and insensitive and shameless. And I also know that I hurt you and I'm still not done forgiving myself for it, so I understand that it's the same for you. Even if it's not ideal, I don't fault you for it, nor do I want to see you belittling your own feelings." The circular motions of Victor's thumbs over his knuckles calmed the racing of his heart. "Besides, didn't we decide that we'd fight through all of that? That no matter what came we'd pull through and be happy together? Isn't that what you said when you gave me this?" Yuuri nodded, cheeks pink. "Take your time to sort through your feelings. I intend to wear this ring for way longer than the time you kept it hidden in a drawer after all, so there's no need to rush it."

Yuuri's heart skipped a beat, and he hummed faintly before lacing his fingers with Victor's, bringing his right hand up to his face to place a kiss on the ring. "I'm sorry Victor. I'm sorry for bringing it up like that, I didn't mean to make you feel guilty or anything. And I'm sorry for saying your proposal was terrible. It… it was very confusing, but it also made me happy."

Victor huffed a chuckle "I'm sorry for making you wait so long. And I guess my proposal was kind of terrible. I don't even like miso soup."

Yuuri snorted. "Indeed you don't."

"Should've just said katsudon instead."

"Oh no, please no, that would've made it even weirder."

Victor inched closer, their foreheads almost touching. "Hmmm my love is so hard to please." Victor nuzzled his cheek until his warm breath was ghosting over Yuuri's ears, and his voice dipped, thick. "And if I'd said 'Please stay by my side and never leave.'?"

Yuuri felt himself blush and he wished his hands were free just so he could slap Victor's chest.

"I _really_ _hate_ _it_ when you use my own words against me."

"Can you blame a man? They're really good words." Victor tilted his head slowly to find his mouth, and Yuuri met the kiss pliantly, soft and sweet and short.

When they pulled away, Victor was smiling. From up close, the wrinkles left on the tear-swollen skin around his eyes were very noticeable. Yuuri thought he would be the only man to ever learn of the number and shapes of the wrinkles in the corners of Victor's eyes. Petty and selfish as he was, he liked that thought.

* * *

By the time February rolled around, everyone in the Katsuki household plus a good handful of their regular customers had already gotten used to hearing a sudden:

"But Yuuri! _Our_ wedding _has_ to be—"

Immediately followed by:

"Victor, we don't _need_ —"

At which point everyone knew not to approach the second floor because it was anyone's guess whether it would turn into a reasonable argument or blow up into a fight. Mari had started setting a betting pool, and if the Nishigori triplets were around, they'd live tweet to their followers asking them to try and guess what the reason was this time around.

Of course, everyone also knew that these spats were always condemned to end with a:

"I don't care what kind of wedding it is as long as the one I'm marrying is you."

And then everyone present would roll their eyes and go back to whatever they were doing before, and Yuuri would be utterly confused when he came back down to find her sister counting money with a smirk on her face.

* * *

Katsuki Yuuri took the gold at Pyeonchang, shattering whatever record Victor had left to his name, his performance rendering the universe mute in awe. The entire world prostrated at his feet, he crowned himself at the top, the brightest, most beautiful star on the sky, standing on the biggest stage there was.

Ice was a fleeting thing. Lines etched by blades quickly melted and disappeared, easily forgotten and overwritten. Victor Nikiforov was dead, but the man standing by his side had done the impossible and carved his name onto this forgetful surface permanently. And Victor –just Victor- was going to marry that man.

* * *

" _The last performance of this exhibition will be a very special collaboration between Japan's Yuuri Katsuki and Russia's Victor Nikiforov, gold and silver medalists in the men's singles division at these Games."_

" _We were all truly surprised at the Grand Prix Final gala, when they first performed this program, weren't we?"_

" _Oh, certainly, that was completely unexpected, and that's before we mention the historic marriage proposal that capped it off. A lot of speculation had been going around about why both of them had chosen the same theme for this season, but now we know the reason."_

" _I'm sure the audience here feels as privileged as we do to be able to see this dreamlike love story between such talented performers unfold in front of our eyes."_

The crowd wasn't bewildered this time when they stepped on the ice together, hand in hand, gold shining on their fingers, but Victor realized he enjoyed the feeling of anticipation he could feel from the audience, now that they knew what they were about to see. His eyes caught a sign that had two interlocked golden rings and the words "Congratulations" written in both Japanese and Russian and he sent a wink in their general direction. Maybe he'd ask to meet whoever was holding it to autograph it later, as a special service.

Before he let go of Yuuri's hand, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the ring on his fourth finger, his heart aflutter. The crowd screamed. Yuuri blushed and chastised him about his love for the dramatics, and Victor couldn't really deny it, basking in the public's joy and the red tint on Yuuri's cheeks.

It felt different to skate this program wearing Yuuri's ring on his finger. Like he was keenly aware of its presence at every moment. Like every note on the piano and every scratch of the violin vibrated louder. Like every move and thought and feeling in their story was even more intense. Like his heart was about to burst because he knew that, at the end of it all, he could embrace the man with whom he'd decided to share the rest of his life. His blood thrummed in his veins, excitement flooding his body, his legs had never felt lighter.

After they separated at the start of the second half, Victor's eyes were caught by Yuuri (in truth, they always were, but he tried to mellow down his yearnings when they skated, not wanting to interfere in their performance). Since he'd first seen the choreography, he'd thought there was something uniquely sorrowful about this part of the story, but he'd always attributed it to the fact that he could hardly think of a more painful moment in his life than the months after he'd let go of Yuuri, and he'd imagined that's what this part was for Yuuri too. But there was something else in Yuuri's moves, in his expression, something remorseful like a broken hope that seemed slightly different, sharper.

" _I've had the ring since Barcelona."_

Victor sucked in a breathe mid-spin and his legs faltered, bringing him to slip and fall on his side, to the audience's horrified gasp. Of course Yuuri's part of the story would be broken and angry and disappointed. Yuuri had known, even back then, that they were meant for a forever, and Victor had left him hanging. As he struggled to make the world stop spinning, his eyes found the ring, and the sight of it grounded him. He lifted his hand and kissed the ring, taking in months and months of Yuuri's frustration and confusion and disillusion. And when he looked back up, ready to embrace all that like he'd embraced everything else that Yuuri would give him, there was Yuuri, his legs stretched and back arched beautifully as he offered a hand at him, face tinted with concern. Victor took his hand and let himself be helped back on his feet. The music reached his ears again and he remembered where they were and what they were doing and he felt a shot of embarrassment.

"Yuuri I'm—"

The smile on Yuuri's face made him swallow his words. His hands in Yuuri's, he let himself be led to the center of the ice, still in a daze, but he quickly managed to recover and melt in a slow spinning embrace for their reunion.

Momentarily, Victor thought of how Yuuri had brought him back to his feet after he'd fallen to his lowest, and gently guided him back to where he was meant to be. And he decided this was fine too.

* * *

" _Beka, come help me buy a fucking suit._ "

Otabek didn't question the need for a phone call when their hotel rooms were three doors apart. "Why do you need one? The one you wore at the Grand Prix banquet seemed fine."

" _Those insufferable idiots want me to be the ring-bearer at their wedding, I need a stupid tux_."

"I thought the ring bearer was supposed to be a child."

" _Apparently the demon triplets are already gonna be flower girls or whatever and Japanese people don't make babies anymore for some reason so there are no other eligible kids in Hasetsu. They should just have their stupid dog do it_."

"If you're so against it, you could always decline." Otabek, of course, knew otherwise, but he also thought it would be healthier if his friend could be more honest with himself about the things he wanted and the people he loved.

" _And suffer Victor whining at me for the rest of my life? Pass."_

Otabek smiled. "Fine. I'll meet you in the bike parking space in ten minutes."

There was a faint hum of acceptance, followed by an odd, nervous silence. Like Yuri had something else to say. So he waited.

" _So like… are you coming with me or not?"_

That caught him off guard. "I just said I'd meet you in-"

" _No, not that, I mean… like… to the wedding. I-it's probably gonna be lame and everyone's gonna be acting all mushy and gross, but Victor likes throwing money out the window so the food at least's gotta be worth it."_

His brow softened ever so slightly. "Sure."

* * *

"Oi, Katsudon, I heard from Yuko you're moving out after the wedding."

Yuuri blinked, not quite sure of where this was coming from. "Well, not really right after, we still have Worlds coming and we don't know how long it'll take to house-hunt, but yeah, that's the plan."

Yurio cocked his head, his eyebrows scrunched in a frown "But why would you do that, you have the onsen right _there_."

Still not entirely sure of where this was going, Yuuri was about to say that Yurio was still welcome to use the onsen whenever he wanted, but then Victor opened his mouth, and Yuuri was of half a mind to speak over him because he had the dreadful feeling that something along the lines of "for the sake of our sex life" was coming. He wasn't fast enough.

"There's not enough space here for when we have kids."

Yurio dropped his fork, bits of rice splattering everywhere, his green eyes going wide as saucers.

"Huh? Wait, _kids_?!"

Yuuri flailed, a part of him almost wishing Victor had said the thing about their sex life instead. "I-it's not like we're jumping to it right away it's jus—"

"I want to name the first one Yuri."

Now Yuuri felt almost as bewildered as Yurio looked.

"What?"

Victor's head tilted slightly, a heart-shaped smile taking over his face "Well, it's perfect right? It works both in Russian and Japanese, and it's gender-neutral."

Yuuri frowned. However enamoured he was with his fiancé's smile, someone had to be the voice of reason here.

"Victor, we're not adding yet another Yuri into this family."

There was a beat of silence…

…immediately followed by Victor's thunderous laughter and a roaring "I AM _NOT_ PART OF THIS FUCKING FAMILY."

* * *

If asked, Katsuki Yuuri would say that never had he felt as such a ball of nerves as he had five minutes before his own wedding. Even as Phichit gushed about how beautiful everything looked, how good the suit fit him, how lucky Victor was (and Yuuri didn't understand why people kept telling him that when _he_ was undoubtedly the lucky one), he couldn't help the shaking of his legs and hands. His ring was nowhere near him (they'd decided to keep the same rings instead of buying a new pair, so Yurio had both of them now), so he couldn't even look at it to ground himself. He was about to suggest that maybe they should postpone the wedding ( _or maybe even cancel it_ , the voices said, _Victor isn't here with you, he obviously doesn't care_ ) when Yuko came rushing in, beautiful in a flowery pink dress that matched the flush of her cheeks.

"Yuuri, you have to come and see this!" she squealed, ushering him towards the window where he could see the yard, the guests starting to pour into the area where the ceremony would be held. He noticed all eyes looking up to the end of the aisle and he followed their gaze to find the large sakura tree that last night had barely had the first buttons ready to blossom once the winter receded.

This morning it was in full bloom.

Yuuri gasped. "Th-that's impossible! It's not even spring yet!"

Phichit gasped too, suddenly appearing next to Yuuri. "Oh! It's a miracle! As expected of the power of love!"

The door flew open and Yurio stomped inside "Oi, Katsudon! You're late and the other idiot is getting insufferably impatient!"

Yuuri took in the sight of the pink sakura flowers against the clear winter sky and he smiled.

"Yeah, I'm ready now."

* * *

He found Victor already waiting for him at the bottom of the aisle, and his blue eyes brightened at the sight of him, red roses blooming on his cheeks. The smile on his lips warmed Yuuri's heart.

"Yuuri, I was—" his eyes roamed over Yuuri's figure and stopped at his chest, his brow furrowing. "Why are you wearing _that_ necktie." He gasped, affronted.

Yuuri grinned as innocently as he could. "You were the one who said you didn't want to see what I was planning to wear before the ceremony."

"Because it's bad luck!"

Yuuri paid him no mind, letting his gaze wander down the aisle and up to the blossoming tree and he extended his hand at Victor as the music started, his grin never faltering. Victor sighed in defeat and grabbed his hand, their fingers trembling as they entwined into each other.

On this day with unexpected weather turnouts, Yuuri found a ridiculous Russian man in his family home (fully clothed, for a change), but this time, it was to interweave the rest of their lives together.

* * *

Victor had never understood why romance novels always ended in a wedding. With Yuuri's hand over his heart, the pounding of Yuuri's heartbeat under his palm, eyes sparkling brightly with hope and promises, all he could think was how much more exciting everything would be from this point onwards, how they had so much life and love to look forward to, how this moment would be much better fit to be called a beginning. The warmth of Yuuri's lips on his seemed to indicate Yuuri thought so too.

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky absolutely, definitely did not cry during that horrible disgusting wedding. His eyes were not stinging and red when he reached the altar carrying their stupid, stupid rings and his fingers didn't quiver when they each reached for one, smiling at him and muttering a 'thank you, Yurio'. Not a single tear slid down his cheeks as he heard them speak their insufferably cheesy vows. Fur sure, he didn't sob a little when they kissed.

Otabek grabbed Yuri's hand without asking, and didn't say anything about how he still had the eyes of a soldier, however wet and swollen they could be.

* * *

 _On the ice, representing Japan: Yuuri Katsuki!_

Yuuri took a deep breath. This was it. His last competition skate. His hands trembled on the edge of the rink barrier. It was almost funny, he'd been so convinced about retiring barely a year ago, but now he felt reluctant. Maybe a small part of him wished he could stretch this thrill, this excitement of sharing the ice with Victor, of showing their love to the world through his skating. A shiver climbed up his spine, nervous goosebumps blooming on his skin.

Large hands laid over his, warm and soothing. Yuuri looked up to meet Victor's glacial blue eyes, so incredibly tender. He waited for Victor to say something (prayed that it wouldn't be something awful, Victor sometimes had a terrible idea of what constituted good encouragement). But nothing came. Victor just rubbed the back of Yuuri's hand with his thumb and smiled fondly, tilting his head slightly, the fringe over his left eye fluttering with the movement. Yuuri briefly thought it was unfair to be so beautiful.

In a moment of boldness, he leaned in to peck Victor's lips softly, and his heart stuttered. He could vaguely hear the crowd screeching and camera shutters going off around them. When he pulled back, Victor's eyes were wide and his cheeks, his ears and the tip of his nose were colored red. Yuuri smiled.

"For good luck." He said and his body felt lighter.

"Oh? That's unfair, I won't get one before my skate."

"Do well and I'll give you one afterwards."

He glided to the center of the ice and shut off all sound outside of the violin, the rich song of the strings coursing through his body like the blood in his veins and guiding his every move, his heart full to the brim with the love Victor had poured into this choreography, and wishing above all things to be able to give all that love back.

Victor had told him many times that he could see music coming from his body when he skated, but if he were to be honest, Yuuri had never really felt that was the case. Throughout his career, he'd felt many different things when he skated: anxiety, thirst for victory, fear, love, so much love, but he'd never felt the music. Tonight though, he could almost see it, the melodies turning into colorful streaks of light that painted on the ice he skated, lighting up in his wake when he jumped, flowing from his fingertips as he spun. He'd always loved the ice, the sound of his blades, the biting cold against his skin, the flip of his heart in that fleeting moment when his feet left the ground, the thought that every step brought him closer to Victor (eyeing his ring, he thought he'd never quite expected to get _this_ close, and yet…), but never had he felt this fulfilled, like so much happiness couldn't possibly fit in his body. Even without hearing the voices of the crowd, even not knowing where Victor was or what expression he had, he knew this was the most intense performance of his career, and he couldn't have dreamed of something better to make it his last.

* * *

"How do you feel about breaking your own World Record?"

"Are you still planning to retire after this?"

"You have practically guaranteed a victory, are you excited about it?"

"Do you think you have truly surpassed Victor now?"

Yuuri took a deep breathe. He had never really enjoyed being in the spotlight, hassled by camera flashes and questions he couldn't possibly answer. His heart was still racing in his chest, his limbs were on fire and between his poor eyesight and the buzz in his ears, he had no idea of what he'd actually scored, nor did he particularly care about it. He could have gotten zero points, it wouldn't take away from this feeling, as if his heart was ready to burst.

" _On the ice: representing Russia, Victor Nikiforov!"_

Yuuri stood up, his eyes immediately going for the rink

"Fogive my rudeness, I'll answer all your questions later. Right now I want to watch my husband's Free."

He wasn't sure if he'd actually said that out loud, but he didn't stop to check, dragging his body over as close as he could get to the rink. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted a " _Davai_!" Victor turned to look at him and winked before assuming his starting position, the first notes of the piano tinkling through the speakers.

This was the third time he got to see Victor's free program in person, but he knew, from the first moment, that Victor was feeling it as intensely as Yuuri had a few minutes ago. His moves flowed with the music like it was an extension of his own body and when he jumped it was as if he was flying. No matter how many times he watched him, the sight of Victor spinning in the air still made his heart leap. Yuuri felt a little melancholic, thinking this would be the last time he'd see Victor skate to this program; to feel, in the tingles on his skin, Victor's passionate love for the choreography Yuuri had given him. It was a gift and a dream to see something he'd created being executed with such power and elegance. The arch of Victor's body was absolutely exquisite and when he extended his long legs, Yuuri felt heat coiling in his gut, remembering all the kisses he'd laid up Victor's strong calves, the bend of his knee and toned flesh of his thighs.

He held his breath as Victor prepared for his final quad flip. From the first time Victor mastered that jump, Yuuri had loved watching him do it, how flawless his form was, how graceful his landings. Surely, even if other skaters tried to learn it, no one would be able to do it as beautifully as Victor Nikiforov. And yet, he of all people, Katsuki Yuuri, one of the dime-a-dozen JSF certified top figure skaters of Japan, had somehow jumped it and landed it over a year ago, as perhaps his first and boldest display of love towards the man he was now married to. It had come to mean so much to the two of them, that just the sight of it –still graceful, and beautiful and flawless- made Yuuri's eyes well up with tears.

As the piano mellowed to the final notes, Victor returned to the center and raised his arms above his head, then drew them down close to his face so his lips grazed the ring on his finger, further down until his hands touched his heart and finally extended both arms, not up to the sky or the cameras, but towards Yuuri, his face flushed with exhaustion yet bright with exhilaration.

Judging by the noise they were making, the crowd had completely lost their minds. Yuuri saw flowers raining down on the rink and Victor made a lap around it to pick a few bouquets and allow a fan to place a crown of red and blue roses on his head. He was about to head to the rink exit when something else was thrown in his path –Yuuri could hardly make out a blob that looked solid, a plushie maybe- and he bent down to pick it up, his face brightening with elation at whatever it was (maybe a Makkachin?) before finally turning towards the exit.

"Yuuri!" he beamed, gliding towards him, arms spread wide, and the next thing Yuuri knew, he was on top of Victor, his left hand throbbing under Victor's head, where he'd held him to keep him from hitting the ice too hard, and Victor looked winded, eyes wide, rose petals from the crown framing his face.

It took him a moment to realize he'd just tackled Victor to the ground.

He sat up immediately, briefly in panic. "Oh no, I'm sorry Victor, I don't know what I was- Does anything hurt? Are you okay?"

To his surprise, Victor laughed under him, eyes shimmering with mirth. "Did you like it that much?"

Heat rose to Yuuri's cheeks and he smiled, relieved, leaning down to press his forehead against Victor's, his hands cupping Victor's cheeks. "I loved it." He said truthfully, his heart thundering against his ribcage.

Victor tilted his head to the side, a playful grin growing on his lips "Hmmm, I seem to recall I was promised some sort of reward if I did a good job. What was it now?"

Yuuri grinned back and kissed him, intending to make it short and quick, but getting immediately wrapped in the warmth that spread on his body, the taste of Victor's pliant mouth, the vibrations of his needy whimpers. He felt, for a moment, that he might be spiraling down a path of no return, but he didn't care enough to stop.

"Are you for real?! Can you possibly try to not be so fucking disgusting for five minutes straight? The scores are coming out."

Yuuri yelped at the gruff sound of Yurio's strangely hoarse voice and immediately sat back up.

"Aww, I'm sorry Yurio, we can't help it! It's our honeymoon after all!" Victor peeped cheerfully as he too got himself off the ice, shaking off the ice shavings that had caught on his costume. Yurio grumbled something about "been like this a full fucking year" and Yuuri made a mental note to apologize later.

As they walked to the kiss & cry hand in hand, Yuuri noticed Victor was still holding the plushie from earlier, but he still couldn't make out what it was. It didn't look like Makkachin for sure.

"What is that?" he asked, squinting. The shape seemed humanoid and it had a lot of dark blue, with black on top.

Victor sat down in front of the scores screen and brought the plushie up to face level. "See it now? It's Yuuri! It's so adorable!" he beamed brightly, and sure, from this distance Yuuri could make out the shape and colors of the costume he'd worn for his Yuri on Ice of last year and the mop of black hair and brown eyes and Victor was going on and on about 'the attention to detail, look it's wearing a ring and it also had these glasses with Velcro and—" and Yuuri lost track of what he was saying because Victor had just gotten a new personal best and then Victor was squealing "Yuuri did you hear that? It's the program you made for me, it's all thanks to you!" and the next thing he knew Victor was kissing him hard and Yurio was screeching "IT HASN'T BEEN FIVE FUCKING MINUTES."

* * *

Victor's breathe was labored, his muscles screaming with exhaustion, and yet his heart was so overwhelmed with joy he almost didn't feel the pain. The arm that was holding Yuuri's waist and supporting the whole of his weight against Victor's body was starting to ache, but he couldn't bring himself to break away from the spell of Yuuri's eyes. Yuuri's fingers were soft on his chin, his breathing warm against Victor's face, his palm firm on Victor's chest and his heartbeat roaring and euphoric. The affection in Yuuri's eyes was almost palpable, even after they fluttered close. Yuuri's lips touched his, softly, whispering 'it was perfect' against his mouth. And as he slowly gave in to the muscular pain and let Yuuri's feet touch the ice again, he couldn't agree more. It had been perfect. The best performance of his career. The most amazing finale anyone could've ever hoped for.

 _Ah._

He felt breathless for a moment.

The most amazing finale was still a _finale_ after all.

Sharp pain squeezed his heart all of a sudden as the realization hit him. This part of his life was _over_. This _thing_ that had been his _everything_ for 20 years, that had defined him and made him who he was, had culminated at last. His eyes went to the audience first, and saw many pairs of teary eyes and heard many voices screaming "Don't go! Don't go!" And he looked down at the ice and caught the blur of his reflection on the surface, and it felt like watching an old friend die.

His knees touched the ice before he even felt the tears stream down his cheeks. And for the first time in many, many years, he didn't mind that the cameras would catch his truly ugly crying face as he bowed as deep as he could go, his forehead touching the ground, crying broken 'thank yous' to the cold against his skin that had always felt like home, had always welcomed him like a father, a mother, a brother and a lover. And he sobbed his gratitude to the blades that had brought him here and given wings to his feet, to the coach that had picked him up every time he'd fallen and convinced him he was meant for grandeur, to his body that had miraculously held up till the last spin, to the people chanting his name, to fate's design that had made him walk this path however painful it was to reach its end, and most of all…

"Victor?"

He glanced up to meet big, warm brown eyes, glassy with tears, "Thank you." He whimpered again, to the man to whom he had promised the rest of his life, to the ice again, for letting him find _him_ , for letting him find his home, his future, his family, his love and life in this man, and to whatever it was that allowed the beginning of a new chapter to entwine so perfectly with the conclusion of this one. When Yuuri pulled him back to his feet and brought him into a tight embrace, fingers clutching to each other's back for dear life, when they shuddered and sobbed in each other's arms, when the voices of the crowd changed to 'thank you' and 'congratulations' and 'good luck', when he cried and Yuuri cried, mourning the loss as much as they celebrated the new beginning, he knew he _truly_ couldn't have ever hoped for a better finale.

That thought alone made his heart feel lighter, even as he whispered one last 'thank you', followed by a 'good bye'.

* * *

"Yurachka, I saw the photo on the paper, I'm very proud of you! You should come over to Moscow so we can celebrate, since I didn't see you for your birthday."

Yuri was looking at the photo too. He usually didn't buy the newspaper (why would he, he could read the news on his phone), but one of his neighbors had brought it over to him this morning, squealing excitedly about it, and Yuri had been left with no option but to accept it. The headline read " _Passing the torch! National hero Victor Nikiforov wins silver at his last figure skating World Championship_." Underneath that there was a tagline of " _Young promise Yuri Plisetsky places bronze under also retiring gold medalist Yuuri Katsuki from Japan_."

"I guess I can take the weekend off before training for next season starts. But don't try to make it a big party or anything, Grandpa, just the usual's fine."

His eyes roamed over the full-page article and the colored photo that capped it. Victor was on the left, winking, holding his silver medal with his right hand. Japanese Yuuri was standing next to him, on the center, also holding his gold medal with his right hand, chin hovering above Victor's shoulder, their heads almost touching. Yuri himself was standing to Yuuri's left, also showing his bronze medal high and proud because he'd gotten a new personal best in his combined score. Yuuri's arm was wrapped around his shoulder, because the photo luckily didn't capture the moment Katsudon had lost his mind and decided to ruffle Yuri's blond hair. The three of them were grinning, cheeks flushed and tear-red eyes sparkling.

But what really caught the eye in that photo was the way Victor and Yuuri held their medals, almost side by side to one another, silver touching gold. Except that the medals were barely even visible, almost entirely covered by each of their hands.

"Ugh, it's the medals you're supposed to show off, not your fucking rings."

After hanging up with his grandfather, he called the newspaper to request for a decent print of the photo to frame and hang next to pictures of Hasetsu's summer and an onsen wedding reception.

* * *

"Victor, wake up"

He groaned.

"It's getting late, come on."

He felt a jab to his shoulders and he opened his eyes to a pair of deep browns frowning at him. In spite of that, he found himself smiling.

"You're here." He breathed in awe, reaching to touch Yuuri's cheek with two fingers.

"Of course I am. Now get up, we're really going to be late."

He groaned again. "But Yuuri, it's Sunday! It's the official day to stay in bed after noon! I'm sure that's on the Constitution and everything!" he whined, clinging to his husband with his arms and legs, determined to convince him to sleep in.

"Not in Japan's." Yuuri replied nonchalantly, easily disentangling himself from Victor's limbs. "Besides, we promised we'd pick Yurio up at the airport."

The information clicked as true in Victor's mind, but that didn't help motivate him. "Yurio's 19, he's already considered an adult in Russia, he can take a train on his own." He tried to argue, though he had the nagging feeling this wasn't gonna work out in his favor.

He could already hear Yuuri's frustrated huff as he shuffled around the room, presumably for clothes. "Victor, we _promised_. Are you going to let him down again?"

"What better senior debut did he want than breaking a World Record? _My_ world record, for that matter." Victor whined in frustration. He really just wanted to cuddle in bed with Yuuri, why was this so much to ask "The person who slept straight through the night should show more compassion towards the one who didn't."

"It was your turn, what did you want me to do about it?"

"To cut your senile husband some slack?"

"Victor, you're 31, you should apologize to the actual senior citizens of the world. My grandma still got up at sunrise to run the inn well into her seventies."

"Yours is a family of superhumans, though."

"Right. And you're my family too."

As usual, Yuuri always knew the exact words to blast all the air out of his lungs. Victor had married a truly savage man.

Yuuri sighed. The mattress dipped near the edge, and Victor finally unfurled from the covers to find his husband's warm brown eyes. "He's bringing a lot of luggage this time, he'll need help carrying it. And he's counting on us. Be nice, Victor, he's had a rough year. We promised him the best second debut in history."

After the reigning World and Grand Prix champions had retired, the world's expectations had fallen on the promising Yuri Plisetsky, who had medaled with both of them in their last competition and had already broken a world record, but the pressure had weighed heavier on his shoulders than anyone had expected, and a very late growth spurt had also gotten in the way. He'd barely scraped by to the Finals, twisted his ankle on a fall during his free program and ended last. The injury had luckily not been severe, but he hadn't been able to qualify for Worlds that year, and on his 18th birthday he announced he was taking a year off to make sure it healed completely. Adjusting to the hormonal and physical changes of his body had been hard, and even something as simple as finding his center of gravity had proved challenging. So last summer, when Yurio had come to visit (it was yet another one of those things that no one really knew when it became a _thing_ , it just had), the three of them (plus Yakov, who refused to retire, on Skype) had a long, serious talk and there had been a lot of anger and frustration and some crying too, but they'd finally agreed that taking some down time to learn to use his body's new proportions was the best for him, that he shouldn't push himself too hard and that, when he was ready, they'd personally coach him to make his comeback even flashier and more amazing than the first one.

The night of that year's World Championship, Christophe Giacometti retired with a last silver medal, while JJ stood on top of the podium and Phichit barely a point behind, and Victor and Yuuri both received the same message on their phones.

" _I'm ready."_

Victor sighed and sat up. Yuuri's admonishment banished the haze of sleep from his mind, the memory of Yurio's angry tears and " _why is my body doing this now_?!" all too reminiscent of his own struggles to live up with the world's expectations while his body decided to grow in whatever direction and proportion it wanted.

"Alright, alright, I'll be a responsible adult for once."

Yuuri smiled and pressed a warm smooch to his forehead. "Good." He got up and trodded to the corner of the room. "Besides, Hana's really excited about seeing Yurioniichan again, right? That's why you wouldn't let Papa sleep at all last night." He cooed, peering into the crib.

Victor grunted as he slipped a pair of slacks on. "She doesn't even _know_ him, she was two weeks old when he came for Christmas."

Yuuri leaned into the crib. "Yurioniichan makes a strong impression, doesn't he? And there's also Skype." He got back on his feet, a small bundle of flesh wrapped in his arms, the baby's round face and sparkling eyes peeking from over the blankets. "Tell Papa how you really like Yurioniichan." He cooed again, turning her to face Victor. She didn't say anything, obviously, but she squealed in apparent agreement, the corners of her icy blue eyes crinkling with excitement and her mouth curling into a heart-shaped smile.

 _Next one will be Yuuri's for sure!_ Victor swore to himself, pumping his fist in the air with determination, while also wondering if it was narcissistic to think the manifestations of his own genetics were unbearably adorable on his daughter.

By the time he was done getting dressed, Yuuri was already slipping his shoes in by the entrance, Hana strapped to his torso in a baby carrier, petting Makkachin's head affectionately and looking so amazingly domestic Victor might have melted on the spot.

"It's a long trip today and we'll have all of Yurio's luggage to carry, but we can go on a walk when we come back, okay? Take care of the house while we're gone."

Makkachin whined, nuzzling Yuuri's hand, then padded over to Victor, probably hoping his puppy eyes would be more effective on him.

"Sorry, buddy, you know I'm as good as you when it comes to contradicting Yuuri. It'll only be a few hours and then we'll go to the beach and you'll get to tackle Yurio all you want."

Hana was flapping her arms excitedly in the carrier, and Yuuri had to pat her legs gently to keep her from kicking too hard. Makkachin seemed to resign himself and plopped down on the wooden boards, where the sunlight kept the floor warm.

Victor glanced back at _their home_ as he stepped out to the street, his eyes catching on the sign that read "Katsuki-Nikiforov". Victor would've been okay with just "Katsuki", but Yuuri had insisted (" _I get it! You just want everyone who passes by to remember that you're the one who charmed Russia's most coveted bachelor_ " he'd said teasingly the day they'd nailed the sign to their outer wall, next to the doorbell, and to his surprise, Yuuri had just grinned). Victor loved looking at that sign.

"Victor, we're barely going to make it on time."

"I'm right behind you!"

* * *

"Ah, see, Yuuri? He didn't need our help, he can carry his luggage _and_ play on his phone!" Victor whined accusingly as Yurio walked out the arrival gate pushing a luggage cart that had three suitcases and his cat's carrier with one hand, while he tapped on his phone with the other. Yuuri clearly paid him no mind and instead rushed to welcome Yurio in a tight hug.

Yurio stiffened in Yuuri's arms, his eyes widening in bewilderment "Get off-! Wha-?! No! I just… I promised to text Beka when I landed." He probably hadn't even realized he was returning Yuuri's hug at that point, which Victor would've usually pointed out, but Yurio had also not realized the high quality material he'd just given him and Victor Nikiforov was not a man to pass up on great opportunities.

"Oh, Beka, is it? That's sweet! Does he also call you 'Yura'?" he smirked devilishly "Isn't young love adorable, Yuuri? Our little Yurio's all grown up!"

Much as expected, Yurio's whole face turned bright red, his nostrils flaring.

"What the fuck, no! We're not… Be –Otabek's not… It's not like… that." His voice turned quieter towards the end, and he pretended to busy himself unlodging his luggage with Yuuri's help just so he could hide his embarrassment. "Why are the two of you even here, don't you have kids to teach? I thought you were taking the demon triplets to Novices."

"Don't try to change the subject, Yurio, you know very well we don't hold practice on Sundays. Let's get back to how it's not like that at all, yes? He just wanted you to text him at… what time is it in Almaty? Four in the morning? Is he texting back? I bet he is." The scarlet blush had spread all the way to the tips of Yurio's ears. "You should've brought him over so we could evaluate whether he meets our standards!" it was really all he could do to contain his laughter, even as Yuuri made him carry the largest suitcase

"Victor, don't tease." He chastised, walking through the gates into the train station. "Don't mind him, Yurio, Otabek's a good guy, you can tell us when you're ready." They fit the suitcases by the train's doors, right behind a group of four seats that faced each other. "Ah, but it would be nice if you invited him over some time, maybe he can come for the summer? Victor's thinking of doing a summer camp, you could train together."

"STOP TALKING LIKE YOU'RE MY PARENTS IT'S GROSS."

For inexplicable reasons, Yurio's lash out made Hana chirp with delight in Yuuri's arms, and that in turn made Yurio's scowl soften so fast, Victor almost got whiplash from looking at his face. He sucked in a breath and felt his face grow warm.

Yurio leaned forward and poked the baby's cheek with his finger. "You poor little monster, you're gonna grow up with the most insufferable and embarrassing parents in the entire world." He cooed, actually _cooed_ , a smile on his lips, and Hana garbled incomprehensible syllables, reaching at Yurio with her tiny hands.

"You'll want to be careful, she's a merciless hair-puller." Yuuri warned, smiling affectionately and nuzzling the top of the baby's head.

Yurio snorted and pushed his long golden ponytail behind his shoulder, letting Hana's small hand curl around one of his fingers instead.

The train was passing by the sea, the glare of the sun blinding Victor for a moment. He could see the coastline from afar, boats floating on the harbor, and the distant silhouettes of the seagulls on the sky. He couldn't hear their cries from inside the train, but the vision was soothing and evocative enough.

"Oi, Victor, are you starting to lose your hearing too, geezer?"

Victor turned away from the window, too dazed to even get upset. His eyes trailed from Yurio's mocking face, to Hana who was doing her mightiest effort to test her brand new tooth on Yurio's finger and finally to Yuuri, his warm eyes gleaming tenderly as he offered their child a chewing toy in replacement of the Russian finger she'd been forced to release and ran his hands over her tuft of silver hair. Yuuri looked up then and met Victor's eyes, the morning sunlight kissing his skin and he smiled. Victor smiled back at him, his heart full to the brim with love.

"I was just thinking I'm definitely inviting this Otabek guy to the summer camp after all. His style is quite exotic and I'm sure you wouldn't be so rude to your parents if he were around." He finally replied playfully, his hand curling around Yuuri's, over Hana's belly. "He seemed to really like katsudon at the wedding, so that's already a point in his favor."

Yurio screeched. Yuuri chuckled. Hana squealed, wanting to join in the ruckus. And Victor laughed because he knew, even after all these years, that it was still _too much_. But Victor was a greedy man, and he wouldn't have done with anything less.

 **The end**

Given how obscenely long this chapter is, I have correspondingly obscenely long thoughts and comments. Post-fact parenthesis mean they were added after watching episode 12 while the preceding note and the scene it's about were written before.

-The first question you might ask yourself is "did I just read 19 thousand words of self-indulgent and mostly unnecessary fanservice?" and the answer is yes.

-Did I go too far in making them act disgustingly in love at all times? Probably also yes.

-At times I feel I sacrificed a lot of passion and sensuality that is inherent to their relationship, but I wanted to focus on their intense emotions and the way they connect them to their skating. Honestly just bury me in Victor and Yuuri writing love letters to each other on the ice.

-This chapter is the one that underwent the most changes during my planning/writing process because initially I thought the pair skating would be an exhibition in Hasetsu, but then I thought I wanted them to share the podium and also proclaim their love to the whole world, so the proposal was going to be in Pyeongchang –esp because the Rio Olympics saw quite a few marriage proposals for LGBT+ athletes and I wanted to honor that-, but then I thought it would make way more sense for them to propose at the GPF because it's so meaningful for them. I also made a lot of changes in who medaled what in each event because I wanted Victor to get one last gold, but I also wanted Yuuri to get an Olympic gold, but I also wanted Chris to share one last podium with Victor, but I also wanted Yurio to share a podium with his parents, but I also etc etc. An early stage of planning also involved Yurio staying in Hasetsu and having them both coach him while also competing, but that would make it too convoluted and surpass my own limits of how much I can bend realism to suit my tastes. (post-fact: obviously Kubo was way more willing than I was to bend reality)

-Apparently Skate America is always the first GPS event (at least I checked the calendar for the last three years and it was), but I absolutely wanted to use S.A. or S.C and basically any event that wasn't Cup of China so that the transportation times would make it impossible for them to coincide in Hasetsu before they finished their events, and I also wanted their _first_ events to be in each other's country, so I shuffled the order to my convenience as usual. Even then I know I'm stretching believability with them taking 5 days per event.

-The FS they choreographed for each other had the same base tech score, so the one who did the best interpretation i.e. got the best PCS would be the one to win assuming they landed all their jumps and spins. Victor probably offered to lower his own technicals since he's a more proficient jumper, but Yuuri wouldn't have it. (post-fact: at first I thought this would be stretching believability since Victor has 4Lz and ostensibly 4Lo while Yuuri doesn't, but in ep 12 Yuuri alters his FS to match Victor's Stammi Vicino in base technical score so…)

-It is apparently not entirely unheard of for figure skaters that already have some prestige to their name to compete without a coach, but it's super rare. Due to both of their reputations it apparently wouldn't be impossible, just very weird. But I thought it would add unnecessary complication to give them coaches (or to send them back to Celestino and Yakov (post-fact: once again, Kubo was one step ahead of me)) because I wanted them to stay together in Hasetsu to train. It's also not unheard of for competing skaters to also choreograph someone else's program, but also kinda rare.

-Did I mention that Piano & Violin metaphors in regards to Victuri are very important to me because if you read that in last chapter's notes and thought I wouldn't have them skate to each other's instrument you were WRONG.

-Do not ask me to what songs they were skating to. They were specially commissioned (like Stammi Vicino and Yuri on Ice) therefore they don't exist in this world (aka I don't know jackshit about music)

-Also do not ask me about their SPs I already struggled to dance around the subjects of their other choreographies with minimum details. I'm not a choreographer and I fail miserably at trying to describe people moving, please have mercy.

-Victor did earn himself a lifetime subscription to the Katsuki Yuuri leg massage experience. A+++ would totally skate a Spartan program again.

-Although this is set to take place in the 2017-18 season (bc I wanted Yuuri to earn an Olympic gold), I still chose Marseille for the GPF because Barcelone was the host in both the canon and real life's previous season.

-The ISU is "the international sport federation administering Ice Skating sports throughout the world", but in Yuri on Ice it's called ISO.

-This year was my first time watching the real GPF and those medals were ugly af. They looked like paper from afar and plastic from up close. Idk guys is this like a normal thing? Is that considered proper medal aesthetic? Cos that was fugly.

-No, no one will ever leave Yuuri alone about Sochi, save Katsuki Yuuri 2k17

-Apparently asking a woman's hand in marriage by way of asking her to be your servant housewife is still a thing in Japan. I personally think it's kinda gross, but for the purpose of Victor's weeabooness, I had to use it.

-I had originally planned a scene in which Yuuri wasn't sure of whether to place the ring on Victor's left or right hand, since Russians seem to favor the right (in this first draft Yuuri got his on the left) and they ended choosing the right so that they could more easily lace their ring hands together, but since now we got canon rings and they both wear it on the right I wasn't gonna contradict it.

-Way too many people are tackled to the ground in this chapter. Oops.

-Victor Nikiforov would be a horrible whiny groomzilla. I don't make the rules, that's just how it is

-Chris's wedding gift was a dancing pole. Victor was extremely grateful.

-Me? Obsessed with wedding scenes with blooming sakuras in the background? _Never_

-If you're going to ask "how come Yuuri couldn't see what the plushie was from a close distance but he could make out the sparkle in Victor's eyes even though they were meters apart?" the answer is a shruggy and the power of love.

-I cried a lot writing the scene after their last gala.

-Yurio and Otabek were kind of a yes-but-no thing since the Victuri wedding (probably went on a lot of dates that were never explicitly called dates, maybe held hands more often than Yurio wants to admit, maybe a couple of goodbye kisses on the cheek or forehead, probably one accidental on the mouth that they never talked about again), but they only made it official after Yurio came back from Hasetsu last summer.

-Even though he placed silver at Worlds, Chris did win his first gold at that year's GPF and that gave him the closure he needed to retire without regrets. I wanted to mention this somewhere but couldn't find a good place for it.

-I have been haunted by the idea that they would name their first child Hana for _Hanarezu ni soba ni ite_. (post-fact: this was even before episode 12 jfc) Because Victor is a weeaboo he wanted to give her fancy and unusual kanji so they went with 羽愛 (wings+love, whereas that name is most commonly written with the kanji for flower). She also probably has a Russian patronymic too, so assuming my Google-fu's not broken, she'd be Hana Victorovna Katsuki-Nikiforova. I hyphenated the last names because there was no one there to stop me (don't ask me how that's gonna fly in the Japanese registry that only takes one surname lalalala). She usually goes by Hana Katsuki, but Victor is all too happy to throw out the full name when he scolds her (as a person with a Very Long NameTM let me tell you parents love to do this shit to make you feel you're about to die)

-Hana was born on the second week of December, at a scarily perfect middle-point between her parents' birthdays, which also happened to coincide with the dates of the GPF.

-You'll have to pry "Yurio spends his summers in Hasetsu" away from my cold dead hands.

-Yurio claims he doesn't protest to Yurioniichan because it can be either broken as Yurio-niichan or Yuri-oniichan, but the truth is he's a softy. When Hana starts talking and calls him that, he legit melts. Yurio hates himself for being so weak.

-Otabek does come to Hasetsu for the summer and Yurio regrets all of his life choices.

-In case I have failed as a writer and you were wondering what's the theme they chose for their last season, look no further than the title. I think it would've looked stupid in text but now I'm also anxious about it not being clear enough.

Sorry for this obscenely long chapter and obscenely long notes. Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to the most ridiculous Russian man, may you live a long and happy life with your sexy katsudon husband and may your hairline not recede too far too soon. Hope y'all enjoyed this exercise in self-indulgence, and thanks for the support, I'm floored by all the lovely comments.


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